a  /i 


ANNOUNCEMENT. 


'T^HIS  book  is  wholly  devoted  to  a  description  of  Western 
scenes. 

It  is  a  trustworthy  descriptive  book  of  travel,  unencumbered 
with  statistics  or  itineraries.  It  is  hoped,  however,  that  a  perusal  of 
its  pages  will  create  a  desire  to  visit  the  scenes  described,  and  the 
reader  who  wishes  to  know  something  specifically  about  the  cost 
and  other  details  of  such  a  journey  is  respectfully  requested  to  con- 
sult a  representative  of  the  Santa  Fe  System  lines.  A  list  of 
Agents  is  given  on  reverse  side. 

Excursion  tickets  for  the  round  trip  to  California  over  the  Santa 
Fe  are  on  sale  at  all  time*  of  the  year  in  principal  offices  through- 
out the  country.  The  rates  are  low,  and  liberal  provisions  are 
made  for  stop-overs  and  final-return  limit,  allowing  ample  time  for 
a  prolonged  stay  at  the  many  points  of  interest  en  route. 

The  trains  of  the  Santa  Fe  are  confidently  recommended  to  a 
discriminating  traveling  public  as  unsurpassed  in  the  important 
items  of  speed,  safety,  and  luxurious  equipment.  The  dining-car 
and  dining-room  service  is  unrivaled.  The  employes  are  uni- 
formly courteous. 

GEO.  T.  NICHOLSON, 

Passenger  Traffic  Manager, 
The  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railway  System. 

CHICAGO,  May,  1905. 


SANTA  FE  TICKET  OFFICES. 


ATCHISON,  Kan.,  :iir,  Cominer 
A  I  I.ANTA.  Ga..  1>;  N.  Pryor  St 


H  IKER8FIELD,  Cal 

BOSTON,  Mass.,  :t;-j  Washington  St . .. 


Tcial  st D.  E.  FARNSWORTII,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

—'iLLE,  Southern  Freight  and  Pass'rAt-t 

NINO'.  General  New  England  Agent. 

A.  CLAY,  Traveling  Atient. 
TCHER,  Passenger  Agent. 


.'.  22o"Eii'icott  So!  B'ld'g! 
>L,  Tenn.,  P.  O.  Box  26... 


v,  Traveling  Agent. 

)  \N.  Cit\  ]1:i-~,-ii!.-cr  Agent. 
I  AS.  A.  MAKSH,  Passenger  Agent. 

f'"  NX  ELL,  General  .*u 
NXELL.  Mgr.  Cal.  Tom -ist  S. 
FALCONER,  Passenger  Agei 
iKO.  L.  BAKEH,  Passenger  Apeut. 

uer  Agent 

3EO.  T.  Gt'NXIP.  General  AK't.  Passi 
f.  G.  BURNETT,  Pas-. -. 

F  MEXICO,  Mex U.S.  1   '.  i;\s\v,  ,  -  I  H,  Gen 

.RN}-..  Tei «',  1..  C  A  KM  K  \N,  City  Tick. 

CI.KVELAN1),  O., 818 Willia 

MX)  Si'KINGS.  Colo 
DALLAS,  Tex.,  24«  Main  St 

DENVER,  Colo.,  1700  Lawrence  St 


CINCINNATI,  Ohio,  209 


DF.S  MOINE8,  Iowa,  Equitable  Bldg 
DETROIT,  Mich.,  151  Griswold  St 
EL  PASO,  Tex.,  Mills  Block 


r  Agent. 
•kc-t  Agent. 


i'T.  City  Passenger  Agent. 

1'assenger  Agent. 
IGHT,  Passenger  Agent. 
"  "     General  Agent  Passenger  De],t. 


RWCK,  Tn.v.  -i 


i,  ;. 
J'- 


MITH.  Travelii 
HAMBKRS,  Passeng 
nger  A| 


FRESNO,  Cal.,  1031J  Street 


Tremont  St.. 
Depot 


L  A  NS  AS  'c'lTY,'Mo.,'905 

Room?,  I'nion  Depot 


U.X.D  I  Mil  ,  Irene  nil  .•vt-'eni  n 
•(  i,  ra-rns-'.-r  Agent 

BROWN    Div    •  -.-tiger  Agent 

.1    S.  MOKK1SON.  City  Ticket  Agent. 
W.  P.  MATCHETTE,  Traveling  Agent. 
~.  A.  JONES,  General  Agent. 
\V.  K  \KNKS.  Traveling  Agent. 
1  •    I' ! .  N  i   i  1 1 N .  '  ,,-^nt. 

\.  .IOH NSON,  Ticket  Agent. 
B  W  MOOKK.  (';•     Passenger  Agent, 
MVX  NAI    •  \gent. 

-  -ent. 

eager  Agent. 

JrS^" 
Depot  Passenger  Agent. 

European  Traffic  Agent. 

ger  Agent. 
Traveling  Agent. 
Passenger  Agent. 


\  K\  \])A(Vri  Y  "...JO   V    SNYDER, 

O  \KTVND  Cal    1112  Broadway  •'   •!  WARNER,  Commercial  Agent. 

1'VIMS  Tex  WM   Bl'ERGER,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

PEORIA  in"y;-;Mniii  -  '.'...O    H.    I  HOM  •>-,  Passenger  AKent. 

" |-.M\IA.  i  a  o t.  .^. ........._....  -x^t£r\  T?  «  *  tj    D"°°Anger  \gent 

.,-er  Agent. 


BALI 


SAN  Kit  A 


*^HP'I  I 

!  NIK'lhk.  <'it>  l'^,--.  tu-er  Age: 
BfAlK.  (ieneral  Agent. 
W  \HKKN,  Geiiern!  Agent. 
']  ^,.1.  in,;  A  gent. 

v  \  \  \NTONIO.  Tex.,101  W.  Commerce  S..H.  Y.  WILL!  AMS,  Passenger  Agent. 

'  m&e@aft££~  rlflHKfiS±tti& 

B'  F.  McDAN^ELL.  Traveling  Agent. 
H.  K.  8TEBNK  General  Agent. 

" '  r'.'  Mr  DA  N  N  EtL?TraT«ling  A«*nt 

.  ANDREWS,  General  Agent. 
B.  BANKS,  City  Passenger  Agent. 
H.  s  M  IT  H,  Passenger  Agent 
W.  UIHMr.K.  \u-ent. 
D.  FIELD 
AS 


VJSAL1A,  Cal 


AKIMKK.  Passenger  Agent 
veling  P 


Agent. 

i 
ger  Agent. 


TO  CALIFORNIA 

Over  the  Santa  Fe  Trail 


4 


TO  CALIFORNIA 

Over  the  Santa  Fe  Trail 
by  C.  A.  Higgins 

Illustrations  by 

J.  T.  McCutcheon  &  Carl  N.  Werntz 


Passenger  Department,  Santa  Fe 
Chicago,  1905 


£  •• 


Copyright,  1904, 
By  Geo.  T.  Nicholson, 

Two  Hundred  and  Seventy-fourth  Thousand, 
Revised  Edition. 


Ad,  186.     5-10-05.     $M. 


CONTENTS, 

i.   EAST  OF  THE  ROCKIES 7 

.11.   NEW  MEXICO 19 

LAS  VEGAS  TO  ALBUQUERQUE       ......  30 

SANTA  FE 34 

PUEBLOS 38 

in.   ARIZONA .     .  47 

ALBUQUERQUE  TO  NEEDLES .  jl 

PETRIFIED  FORESTS 55 

MOKIS        59 

CANYON  DIABLO        64 

FLAGSTAFF 65 

SAN  FRANCISCO  PEAKS <7 

GRAND  CANYON  OF  ARIZONA .-  73 

CLIFF  AND  CAVE  DWELLINGS 8c 

CENTRAL  AND  SOUTHERN  ARIZONA 83 

iv.    SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA 90 

OF  CLIMATE -95 

SAN  DIEGO  AND  VICINITY 104 

CAPISTRANO 114 

STORY  OF  THE  MISSIONS 117 

LOS  ANGELES 125 

PASADENA                  135 

MOUNT  LOWJ2 139 

THE    KITE -SHAPED    TRACK 140 

SEASIDE    RESORTS 149 

SANTA  CATALINA  ISLAND 151 

SANTA  BARBARA          155 

OSTRICH  FARMING 158 

WINTER  SPORTS 159 

A   LAND   OF  FLOWERS 163 

v.    CENTRAL  CALIFORNIA .  166 

SAN  FRANCISCO 170 

CHINATOWN 178 

SUBURBAN  SAN  FRANCISCO l86 

A   PACIFIC   TOUR 187 

COAST   LINE 191 

YOSEMITE   VALLEY 196 


THE  OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL. 

It  wound  through  strange  scarred  hills,  down  canyons  lone 

Where  wild  things  screamed,  with  winds  for  company  ; 

Its  milestones  were  the  bones  of  pioneers. 

Bronzed,  haggard  men,  often  with  thirst  a-moan, 

Lashed  on  their  beasts  of  burden  toward  the  sea  : 

An  epic  quest  it  was  of  elder  years, 

For  fabled  gardens  or  for  good,  red  gold, 

The  trail  men  strove  in  iron  days  of  old. 

To-day  the  steam  god  thunders  through  the  vast, 
While  dominant  Saxons  from  the  hurtling  trains 
Smile  at  the  aliens,  Mexic,  Indian, 
Who  offer  wares,  keen-colored,  like  their  past : 
Dread  dramas  of  immitigable  plains 
Rebuke  the  softness  of  the  modern  man  ; 
No  menace,  now,  the  desert's  mood  of  sand  ; 
Still  westward  lies  a  green  and  golden  land. 

For,  at  the  magic  touch  of  water,  blooms 
The  wilderness,  and  where  of  yore  the  yoke 
Tortured  the  toilers  into  dateless  tombs, 
Lo!  brightsome  fruits  to  feed  a  mighty  folk. 

—  Richard  Burton  in  The  Century. 


EAST   OF  THE   ROCKIES. 

THE  California  trains  of  the  Santa  Fe  leave 
Chicago  either  in  early  evening,  or  at  a  later 
hour,  when  most  travelers  are  ready  to  retire  to 
the  seclusion  of  their  berths.  In  either  event  the 
earliest  stages  of  the  journey  offer  little  of  interest 
to  the  tourist  aside  from  the  drainage  canal,  whose 
white  rock-debris  closely  parallels  the  way  for  thirty 
miles. 

The  same  natural  conditions  which  made  the 
Chicago  River  a  favored  route  for  the  early  explorers 
made  possible  the  creation  of  this  most  remarkable 
of  civic  sanitary  undertakings.  The  low  water- 
shed over  which  Marquette,  Joliet,  La  Salle  and 
their  fellows  dragged  light  canoes,  from  the  head 
waters  of  the  Chicago  River  to  those  flowing  south- 
westward  to  the  Mississippi,  has  been  penetrated 
by  the  great  canal.  It  is  literally  true,  therefore,, 
that  the  current  of  the  Chicago  River  has  been 
diverted  from  its  natural  direction  into  Lake  Michi- 
gan, and  now  flows  by  way  of  its  source,  "  uphill." 
The  primary  incentive  for  this  stupendous  under- 


taking  was  the  desire  to  divert  the  drainage  of  the 
city  from  its  outflow  into  Lake  Michigan,  where 
it  perforce  contaminated  that  noble  water  supply. 
Incidentally,  however,  as  a  result  of  the  work,  a 
capacious  ship  channel  has  been  formed,  connecting 
the  basin  of  the  Great  Lakes  with  the  Mississippi 
River. 

While  no  commercial  advantage  has  been  taken 
of  this  new  trade  route  as  yet,  river  improvements 
now  under  way  will  remove  the  final  obstacle 
to  direct  navigation  between  the  lakes  and  the 
great  river.  This  drainage  canal  is  one  of  those 
rare  achievements  in  which  figures  tell  a  dramatic 
story.  The  total  cost  of  the  enterprise  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  approximates  $40,000,000. 
The  canal  was  begun  September  3,  1892,  and  in 
January  of  1900  the  water  of  Lake  Michigan  was 
turned  into  it  to  find  a  new  way  to  the  ocean. 
The  length  of  the  main  channel  is  28.5  miles,  the 
depth  of  water  22  feet,  the  width  from  162  feet  to 
290  feet,  and  the  total  amount  of  excavation  42,- 
397,904  cubic  yards.  The  present  capacity  is 
300,000  cubic  feet  per  minute,  and  this  flow  will 
be  materially  increased  by  the  river  improvements 
in  progress. 

By  day  the  adjacent  country  appears  a  level  or 
mildly  undulating  region,  rich  in  agricultural  prod- 
ucts, and  relieved  by  bits  of  stream  and  woodland 
and  by  small  villages,  with  here  and  there  a  con- 
siderable city,  such  as  Joliet,  and  Streator  and 
Galesburg.  It  is  greater  than  the  whole  of  Eng- 
g 


land  and  Wales,  this  State  of  Illinois,  but  a  very  few 
hours'  ride  is  sufficient  to  bring  one  to  its  western 
boundary,  the  Mississippi  River.  This  is  crossed 
at  Fort  Madison  on  an  eight-span  drawbridge  1,925 
feet  long,  and  the  way  continues  across  the  narrow 
southeastern  corner  of  Iowa  into  Missouri.  While 
gliding  through  the  State  last  named  the  traveler 
awakes  to  the  sight  of  a  rolling  country  of  distant 
horizons,  swelling  here  and  there  to  considerable 
hills,  checkered  with  tilled  fields  and  frequent  farm- 
houses, divided  by  numerous  water-courses  and 
dense  groves  of  deciduous  trees.  Not  one  whose 
scenic  features  you  would  travel  far  to  see,  but 
gratifying  to  the  -eye ;  full  of  gentle  contrasts  and 
pleasing  variety. 

La  Plata  is  the  highest  point  between  Chicago 
and  Kansas  City.  Just  east  of  Carrollton  the  wide 
valley  of  the  tawny  Missouri  is  entered,  which 
river  the  Santa  Fe  follows  to  Kansas  City.  At 
the  lofty  Sibley  bridge  (two-fifths  of  a  mile  long 
and  135  feet  high)  across  the  Missouri  River  the 
swift  sand-laden  volume  of  this  famed  stream  flows 
far  below  the  level  of  the  eye,  and  there  is  wide 
outlook  upon  either  hand.  On  the  farther  side 
the  way  skirts  bold  bluffs  for  a  considerable  dis- 
tance by  the  side  of  the  broad  and  picturesque 
river  that  is  reminiscent  of  the  days  of  steamboat 
commerce.  Then  comes  Kansas  City. 

There  was  a  time  when  Kansas  City  was  famed 

almost  entirely  for  its  live  stock  industry,  its  great 

packing  houses,  and  its  grain  market.     These  en- 

9 


terprises  have  been  growing  year  by  year,  but  they 
no  longer  dominate  the  commercial  life  of  this 
metropolis  of  the  Missouri  Valley.  A  great  rail- 
way, manufacturing  and  distributing  center,  Kansas 
City  holds  an  important  place  in  the  business  activ- 
ities of  the  whole  Southwest.  Its  rapid  growth 
is  uninterrupted,  the  present  population,  counting 
that  portion  over  in  Kansas,  being  225,000.  Its 
people  are  energetic  and  practical  in  their  civic 
loyalty.  The  Kansas  border  lies  just  beyond,  the 
entrance  to  that  State  leading  by  the  serpentine 
course  of  the  river  of  the  same  name  through  a 
wooded  landscape  to  the  open  prairie. 

Kansas  City  is  not  the  only  gateway  by  which 
the  Santa  Fe  enters  Kansas,  although  it  is  by  this 
route  that  the  transcontinental  trains  travel.  St. 
Joseph,  in  Missouri,  and  Atchison  and  Leavenworth, 
in  Kansas,  are  Missouri  River  cities,  all  reached  by 
connecting  lines  of  the  same  system,  and  all  famous 
in  the  early  history  of  the  region.  St.  Joseph  was 
an  important  point  of  exchange  between  the  river 
traffic  and  that  of  the  overland  route  to  Denver 
and  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Atchison  was  the 
initial  point  of  the  Santa  Fe  Railway  system  itself, 
as  originally  planned,  and  gave  its  name  to  the 
great  railway.  Leavenworth  was  one  of  the  early 
military  posts  of  the  great  West,  and  is  still  known 
as  the  seat  of  Fort  Leavenworth.  All  of  these  are 
flourishing  cities,  with  important  local  industries. 

The  billowy  surface  of  Kansas  was  once  the  bed 
of  an  inland  sea  that  deposited  enormous  quantities 


of  salt,  gypsum  and  marbles,  and  its  rock  strata 
abound  in  most  remarkable  fossils  of  colossal  animal 
life — elephants,  mastodons,  camels,  rhinoceroses, 
gigantic  horses,  sharks,  crocodiles,  and  more  ancient 
aquatic  monsters  of  extraordinary  proportions,  fright- 
ful appearance,  and  appalling  name,  whose  skele- 
tons are  preserved  in  the  National  Museum.  Its 
eastern  boundary  was  along  the  shore  of  the  most 
stubborn  wilderness  of  our  possession.  The  French 
fur-traders  were  the  first  to  establish  footing  of 
civilization  in  Kansas,  the  greater  portion  of  which 
came  to  us  as  part  of  the  Louisiana  purchase. 
More  than  seventy  years  ago  Fort  Leavenworth 
was  created  to  give  military  protection  to  the  haz- 
ardous trade  with  Santa  Fe,  and  the  great  overland 
exodus  of  Argonauts  to  California  at  the  time  of 
the  gold  discovery  was  by  way  of  that  border  sta- 
tion. The  first  general  settlement  of  its  eastern 
part  was  in  the  heat  of  the  factional  excitement 
that  led  to  the  Civil  War.  It  was  the  scene  of 
bloody  encounters  between  free-soil  and  pro-slavery 
colonists,  and  of  historic  exploits  by  John  Brown 
and  the  guerrilla  Quantrell.  In  the  space  of  one 
generation  it  has  been  transformed  as  by  a  miracle. 


A  Santa  Fe  Dining  Room. 


University  of  Kansc 


The  very  Lawrence,  whose  name  for  years  called 
to  mind  the  horrors  of  the  Quantrell  raid  and  the 
massacre  of  its  defenseless  citizens,  is  now  the  most 
flourishing  of  peaceful  towns,  the  seat  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Kansas  and  of  the  famous  Haskell  Insti- 
tute, a  noteworthily  successful  school  for  Indians. 
The  vast  plains  whereon  the  Indian,  antelope 
and  buffalo  roamed  supreme  are  now  counted  as 
the  second  most  important  agricultural  area  of  the 
Union,  and  its  uncultivated  tracts  sustain  millions 
of  cattle,  mules  and  horses.  Vigorous  young  cities 
are  seen  at  frequent  intervals.  Topeka,  with  its 
broad  avenues  and  innumerable  shade  trees,  is  one 
of  the  prettiest  capitals  of  the  West ;  here  are  the 
general  offices  and  principal  shops  of  the  Santa  Fe, 
and  several  imposing  State  edifices.  Between  Law- 
rence and  Topeka  the  train  passes  historic  Lecomp- 
ton,  the  early  territorial  capital  of  Kansas  —  once 
a  strenuous  pro-slavery  stronghold,  to-day  a  quiet 
country  village.  The  neighborhood  of  Newton 
and  Burrton  is  the  home  of  Mennonites,  a  Russian 
sect  that  fled  to  America  from  the  domain  of  the 
Czar  to  find  relief  from  oppression.  Newton  was 
in  pioneer  days  a  big  shipping  point  on  the  cattle 
drive  from  Texas. 


The  Capitol,  Topeka, 


At  Hutchinson  (noted  for  its  salt  industry)  one 
enters  western  Kansas,  and  from  this  point  for  a 
long  distance  the  road  follows  the  windings  of  the 
Arkansas  River,  with  only  occasional  digressions. 
Dodge  City,  of  cowboy  fame,  and  Garden  City, 
the  scene  of  Government  experiments  in  agricul- 
ture, are  the  chief  centers  of  this  district.  East  of 
Great  Bend  are  the  ruins  of  old  Fort  Zarah.  Paw- 
nee Rock,  further  west,  derives  its  name  from  a 
high  rock  north  of  the  little  station,  where  many 
fierce  Indian  battles  were  fought,  and  where  Gen. 
Hancock,  Gen.  Robert  E.  Lee  and  Kit  Carson 
made  noteworthy  visits. 

Opposite  Larned,  on  an  island  in  the  river,  a 
fierce  battle  occurred  in  1870  between  hostile 
Cheyennes  and  Arapahoes. 

The  Santa  Fe  trail,  mentioned  in  New  Mexico 
chapter,  began  at  Westport  (now  Kansas  City), 
following  the  Kaw  River  to  Lawrence,  thence 
over  the  hills  to  Burlingame  and  Council  Grove — 
the  Arkansas  Valley  being  reached  at  Fort  Zarah 
(now Great  Bend).  The  trail  crept  up  this  valley 
to  Bent's  Fort  (now  Las  Animas),  and  climbed 
the  mountains  through  Raton  Pass.  There  was  a 
short  cut  from  Fort  Dodge  to  Las  Vegas,  along 
the  Cimarron  River.  It  is  but  thirty  years  since 
Comanches  and  Pawnees  made  almost  every  toil- 


some  mile  of  the  slow  passage  through  Kansas 
dangerous  for  the  wagon  trains  that  wound  slowly 
across  the  plains,  laden  with  the  traffic  for  the 
southwest.  Except  the  trains  were  heavily  guarded 
by  military  escorts,  they  were  subject  to  frequent 
attacks  by  day  and  night.  The  stories  of  those 
days  make  picturesque  reading  now  for  the  traveler 
who  passes  by  rail  swiftly  and  luxuriously  along 
this  very  pathway. 

Colorado  first  presents  itself  as  a  plateau,  ele- 
vated 4,000  feet  above  the  sea,  railway  and  river 
continuing  as  close  neighbors  through  the  gently 
ascending  plains.  • 

The  Arkansas  Valley,  all  the  way  from  Kansas- 
Colorado  State  line  to  La  Junta  and  beyond,  is  in 
summer  comparable  to  a  hundred-mile-long  green 
ribbon  stretched  loosely  across  the  wide  gray  prai- 
rie. Its  alfalfa  fields,  melon  patches,  beet  sugar 
acres  and  thrifty  towns  are  proof  that  irrigation 
pays,  there  being  a  never-failing  supply  of  water 
for  these  fertile  lands.  Holly,  Lamar,  Las  Animas, 
La  Junta  and  Rocky  Ford  are  the  centers  of  this 
irrigated  district,  a  bit  of  pastoral  prosperity  in 
pleasing  contrast  with  the  grim  and  forbidding 
mountains  soon  to  be  ventured. 

A  factory  has  been  built  at  Rocky  Ford  for  the 
production  of  sugar  from  beets.  It  was  erected 
by  the  Oxnard  Syndicate  at  a  cost  of  $1,000,000, 
and  its  daily  capacity  is  i,OOO  tons  of  beets.  This 


convenient  market  is  stimulating  the  raising  of 
sugar  beets  throughout  the  valley,  so  that  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  succulent  vegetable  promises  to 
become  one  of  the  most  important  of  local  indus- 
tries. 

Four  miles  west  of  Holly,  and  consequently  just 
over  the  Colorado  line,  is  the  little  colony  estab- 
lished by  the  Salvation  Army  in  1898,  under  the 
name  of  Fort  Amity.  As  a  measure  of  practical 
benefit  to  certain  elements  in  the  crowded  quar- 
ters of  the  great  cities,  the  Salvation  Army 
obtained  1,800  acres  of  land  here  and  settled  upon 
it  250  colonists.  The  progress  of  the  colony  dur- 
ing its  early  history  seems  to  promise  success  for 
the  undertaking. 

Passing  Las  Animas  the  tourist  is  again  reminded 
of  the  good  old  days  when  Kit  Carson  made 
Bent's  his  headquarters,  when  the  Arapahoes,  Kio- 
was  and  Cheyennes  wintered  at  Big  Timbers,  and 
when  Fort  William  (later  known  as  Fort  Lyon) 
afforded  security  for  the  frontiersmen  in  times  of 
unusual  danger. 

Every  mile  of  progress  westward  carries  the 
traveler  into  a  higher  altitude  as  he  approaches  the 
junction  of  the  great  plains  and  the  foothills  of  the 
Rockies.  Soon  the  landscape  begins  to  give  hint 
of  the  heroic.  Pike's  Peak  is  clearly  distinguish- 
able though  a  hundred  miles  distant,  and  the  two 
beautiful  Spanish  Peaks  hover  upon  the  horizon 
and  reappear  long  after  the  first-named  has  faded 
from  view.  Slowly  the  Raton  Range  gathers  sig- 
15 


nificance  directly  ahead,  until  it  becomes  a  tower- 
ing wall,  at  whose  foot  lies  the  city  of  Trinidad. 

Trinidad  is  the  center  of  large  coal,  coke,  iron 
and  wool  industries.  Here,  going  west,  is  the  first 
appearance  of  adobe  architecture  and  Mexican  set- 
tlements. Here  also  begins  the  final  ascent  to  the 
first  of  many  lofty  mountain  gateways,  the  Raton 
Pass. 

Away  back  in  1540,  when  that  Spanish  soldier 
of  fortune,  Coronado,  traveled  through  the 
Southwest,  there  was  in  his  small  band  a  brave 
captain,  known  as  Cardenas.  It  is  said  that 
Cardenas  was  the  first  white  man  to  see  the 
Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona.  Be  that  as  it  may 
his  fame  is  now  secure.  A  new  Santa  Fe  rail- 
way hotel,  managed  by  Mr.  Fred  Harvey,  was  built 
at  Trinidad,  Colorado,  in  the  summer  of  1903, 
and  named  the  Cardenas.  Our  doughty  war- 
rior's name  will  now  be  in  everybody's  mouth, 
figuratively  speaking — that  is,  everybody  who 
goes  through  Trinidad  on  the  Santa  Fe. 

How  different  the  menu,  how  much  softer  the 
beds  than  364  years  ago  when  Cardenas  the 
soldier  rode  down  Raton  Pass  on  his  trusty  steed 
and  camped  on  the  site  of  Trinidad!  The  con- 
trast typifies  all  the  great  things  that  have  hap- 
pened meanwhile. 

The  commodious  dining-room  of  the  Cardenas 


Hotel  Cardenas,  at  Trinidad. 


accommodates  nearly  a  hundred  guests,  and  there 
are  thirty-seven  sleeping  apartments.  The  edifice 
is  two  stories  high,  substantially  built  of  brick  and 
stone  in  the  impressive  old  Mission  style  of  archi- 
tecture, similar  to  the  Castaileda  and  Alvarado, 
elsewhere  described.  The  hotel  is  beautifully  fur- 
nished throughout,  and  in  the  language  of  the 
advertisement  writer,  has  "all  the  modern  con- 
veniences." 

The  grade  up  Raton  Pass  is  remarkably  steep, 
and  two  powerful  mountain  engines  are  required 
to  haul  the  train  at  a  pace  hardly  faster  than  a 
walk.  The  vicissitudes  of  the  pass  are  such  that 
the  road  winds  tortuously  in  curves  so  sharp  the 
wheels  shriek  at  the  strain.  From  the  rear  vesti- 
bule may  be  had  an  endlessly  varied  and  long 
continued  series  of  mountain  views,  for  the  ascent 
is  no  mere  matter  of  a  moment.  There  are  level 
side  canyons  prettily  shaded  with  aspen,  long 
straight  slopes  covered  with  pine,  tumbled  waves 
of  rock  overgrown  with  chaparral,  huge  bare  cliffs 
with  perpendicular  gray  or  brown  faces,  conical 
coke  ovens,  with  their  ghostly  smoke  wreaths, 
and  breaks  through  which  one  may  look  far  out 
across  the  lower  levels  to  other  ranges. 

A  short  distance  this  side  the  summit  stands 
what  is  left  of  the  old  toll-house,  an  abandoned 
and  dismantled  adobe  dwelling,  where  for  many 
years  the  veteran  Dick  Wooten  collected  toll  from 
those  who  used  the  wagon  road  through  the  pass. 
Both  ruin  and  trail  are  of  interest  as  belonging  to 


the  ante-railroad  period  of  thrilling  adventure,  for 
by  that  road  and  past  the  site  of  the  dilapidated 
dwelling  journeyed  every  overland  stage,  every 
caravan,  every  prairie  schooner,  every  emigrant, 
and  every  soldier  cavalcade  bound  to  the  south- 
western country  in  early  days. 

Beyond  this  is  a  wide-sweeping  curve  from 
whose  farther  side,  looking  backward  down  the 
pass,  an  inspiring  picture  is  unfolded  to  view  for  a 
passing  instant  —  a  farewell  glimpse  of  the  poetic 
Spanish  Peaks  at  the  end  of  a  long  vista  past  a 
ragged  foreground  of  gigantic  measure.  Then  the 
hills  crowd  and  shut  off  the  outside  world;  there 
is  a  deep  sandstone  cut,  its  faces  seamed  with  lay- 
ers of  coal,  a  boundary  post  marked  upon  one  side 
Colorado  and  upon  the  other  New  Mexico,  and 
instantly  following  that  a  plunge  into  a  half-mile 
tunnel  of  midnight  blackness,  at  an  elevation  of 
something  more  than  7,600  feet. 

At  such  a  Rubicon  the  preliminary  stages  may 
fairly  be  said  to  end. 

And  here,  too,  a  few  words  may  properly  be  said 
of  the  Maxwell  Land  Grant,  a  princely  domain 
once  owned  by  the  American  Fur  Company,  now 
belonging  to  a  foreign  syndicate.  The  Santa  Fe 
is  built  along  its  eastern  edge  for  sixty  miles  south 
of  Raton  Pass.  This  rich  empire  of  two  million 
acres  is  being  occupied  by  miners,  farmers  and 
ranchers — a  rather  prosaic  though  sensible  ending 
for  the  little  drama  in  whose  spectacular  opening 
scenes  reckless  frontiersmen  battled  Nature  with 
brave  hearts  and  won  new  ground  for  a  new  civili- 
zation. 18 


Spanish  Peaks. 


II. 


NEW  MEXICO. 

A  LTHOUGH  your  introduction  is  by  way  of  a 
-^  *•  long  tunnel,  followed  by  a  winding  moun- 
tain pass  down  whose  steep  incline  the  train  rushes 
to  regain  the  low  level  from  which  the  journey 
was  begun,  you  will  find  New  Mexico  a  territory 
in  the  sky.  If  its  mountain  ranges  were  leveled 
smoothly  over  its  valleys  and  plains  the  entire  area 
of  more  than  I2O,OOO  square  miles  would  stand 
higher  above  the  sea  than  the  summit  of  any  peak 
of  the  Catskills  or  the  Adirondacks.  Its  broad 
upland  plains,  that  stretch  to  a  horizon  where 
wintry  peaks  tower  high  above  the  bold  salients  of 
gray-mottled  foothills,  themselves  lie  at  an  altitude 
that  in  the  Eastern  States  must  be  sought  among 
19 


the  clouds,  and  at  no  time  will  you  fall  much  below 
an  elevation  of  5,000  feet  in  traversing  the  portion 
of  the  territory  that  lies  along  the  present  route. 

The  landscape  is  oriental  in  aspect  and  flushed 
with  color.  Nowhere  else  can  you  find  sky  of 
deeper  blue,  sunlight  more  dazzling,  shadows  more 
intense,  clouds  more  luminously  white,  or  stars  that 
throb  with  redder  fire.  Here  the  pure  rarefied  air 
that  is  associated  in  the  mind  with  arduous  moun- 
tain climbing  is  the  only  air  known  —  dry,  cool  and 
gently  stimulating.  Through  it,  as  through  a  crys- 
tal, the  rich  red  of  the  soil,  the  green  of  vegetation, 
and  the  varied  tints  of  the  rocks  gleam  always 
freshly  on  the  sight. 

You  are  borne  over  mountains  above  forests  of 
pine  and  fir,  with  transient  glimpses  of  distant 
prairie;  through  canyons  where  fierce  rock  walls 
yield  grudging  passage  and  massive  gray  slopes  bend 
downward  from  the  sky ;  along  level  stretches  by 
the  side  of  the  Great  River  of  the  North,  whose 
turbid  stream  is  the  Nile  of  the  New  World ;  past 
picturesque  desert  tracts  spotted  with  sage,  and 
past  mesas,  buttes,  dead  volcanoes  and  lava  beds. 

These  last  are  in  a  region  where  you  will  see 
not  only  mountain  craters,  with  long  basaltic  slopes 
that  were  the  ancient  flow  of  molten  rock,  but 
dikes  as  well ;  fissures  in  the  level  plain  through 
which  the  black  lava  oozed  and  ran  for  many  miles. 
These  vast  rivers  of  rock,  cracked,  piled,  scattered 
in  blocks,  and  in  places  overgrown  with  chaparral, 
are  full  of  interest,  even  to  the  accustomed  eye. 

20 


They  wear  an  appearance  of  newness,  moreover, 
as  if  the  volcanic  action  were  of  recent  date ;  but 
there  has  been  found  nothing  in  native  tradition 
that  has  any  direct  bearing  upon  them.  Doubtless 
they  are  many  centuries  old. 

Geologically  their  age  is  of  course  determinable, 
but  geology  deals  in  rock  epochs ;  it  talks  darkly  of 
millions  of  years  between  events,  and  in  particulars 
is  careful  to  avoid  use  of  the  calendar.  It  is  well 
to  remember  that  the  yesterday  of  creation  is  singu- 
larly barren  of  mankind.  We  are  practically  con- 
temporaries of  Adam  in  the  history  of  the  cosmos, 
and  all  of  ancient  and  modern  history  that  lies 
between  is  a  mere  evanescent  jumble  of  trivialities. 
Dame  Nature  is  a  crone,  fecund  though  she  be,  and 
hugging  to  her  breast  the  precious  phial  of  rejuve- 
nescence. Her  face  is  wrinkled.  Her  back  is  bent. 
Innumerable  mutations  lie  heavy  upon  her,  briskly 


though  she  may  plot  for  to-morrow.  And  nowhere 
can  you  find  her  more  haggard  and  gray  than  here. 

You  feel  that  this  place  has  always  worn  much 
the  same  aspect  that  it  wears  to-day.  Parcel  of 
the  arid  region,  it  sleeps  only  for  thirst.  Slake 
that,  and  it  becomes  a  garden  of  paradise  as  by  a 
magic  word.  The  present  generation  has  proved 
it  true  in  a  hundred  localities,  where  the  proximity 
of  rivers  or  mountain  streams  has  made  irrigation 
practicable. 

The  confines  of  the  Great  American  Desert  are 
narrowing  rapidly.  Do  but  reflect  that  a  quarter 
century  back  the  journey  you  now  make  in  perfect 
comfort  was  a  matter  of  wild  adventure,  at  cost  of 
months  of  arduous  travel  and  at  hazard  of  life,  not 
only  because  of  human  foes,  but  for  scarcity  of  food 
and  water.  One  never  appreciates  the  full  stride 
of  American  progress  until  he  has  traversed  in  a 
Pullman  car  such  a  territory  as  this,  where  Valley 
of  Death  and  Journey  of  the  Dead  are  names  still 
borne  by  waterless  tracts,  and  justified  by  bleached 
bones  of  cattle  and  lonely  mounds  of  scattered 
graves. 

Rescued  from  centuries  of  horror  and  planted 
in  the  front  rank  of  young  rising  States  by  the 
genius  of  our  generation,  New  Mexico  is  a  land  of 
broad  ranges,  where  hundreds  of  thousands  of  sleek 
cattle  and  countless  flocks  of  sheep  browse  upon 
the  nutritious  grasses ;  where  fields  of  grain  wave 
in  the  healthful  breeze ;  where  orchard  trees  bend 
under  their  weight  of  luscious  fruits,  and  where 


the  rocks  lay  bare  inexhaustible  veins  of  precious 
metals. 

Here  may  be  found  to-day  as  profitable  large 
ranches  as  any  in  the  country,  and  innumerable 
small  aggregations  of  cultivated  acres,  whose  owners 
sit  comfortably  upon  shaded  verandas  while  their 
servants  till  the  field.  This  is  the  paradox  of  a 
region  whose  softer  scenes  will  often  seem  to  be 
overborne  by  bleak  mountain  and  desert  and  lava 
bed;  that  if  you  own  ten  acres  of  irrigated  land 
here  you  are  that  much-vaunted  but  seldom  en- 
countered individual,  an  independent  farmer.  You 
may  smile  in  a  superior  way  when  you  hear  talk  of 
the  profits  of  bank  stocks.  You  may  look  without 
envy  upon  the  man  who  is  said  to  own  a  gold  mine. 

Scattered  by  the  way  are  sleepy  Mexican  villages, 
ancient  Indian  pueblos,  still  inhabited,  and  those 
older  abandoned  ruins  which  give  to  the  region  its 
peculiar  atmosphere  of  mystery.  The  history  of 
New  Mexico  formerly  began  with  a  pretty  legend 
that  dated  back  to  a  time  in  Spain  when  a  sover- 
eign, fighting  amid  his  native  mountains,  found 
himself  hemmed  in  by  the  enemy,  and  would  have 
perished  with  all  his  army  had  not  one  of  his  enter- 
prising soldiers  discovered  an  unsuspected  pass,  the 
entrance  to  which  he  marked  with  a  bleached 
cow's  skull  that  lay  convenient  to  his  hand,  and 
then  returning  led  a  retreat  through  the  pass  to 
safety.  By  order  of  the  grateful  king  the  family,' 
name  of  the  soldier  was  thereupon  made  Cabeza 
de  Vaca  —  cow's  head — to  celebrate  so  opportune  a 
23 


service.  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  got  a  doubloon  or 
two  as  well,  but  on  that  particular  head  tradition 
is  silent.  However,  among  the  soldier's  descend- 
ants a  talent  for  discovery  became  a  notorious  fam- 
ily trait.  It  amounted  to  a  passion  with  them. 
You  could  not  get  into  any  difficulty  but  a 
Cabeza  de  Vaca  could  find  you  a  way  out.  Natu- 
rally, then,  when  Narvaez  set  sail  from  Spain  for 
the  Florida  coast,  three  and  a  half  centuries  ago, 
he  took  one  of  that  family  along  for  a  mascot. 
The  expedition  came  to  grief  on  the  Florida  reefs, 
but  the  mascot  survived,  and  with  him  three  others 
who  had  wisely  clung  to  him  when  the  ship  went 
to  pieces.  Stranded  upon  an  unknown  coast,  men- 
aced by  hostile  Indians,  an  ocean  behind  and  a 
wilderness  before,  this  Cabeza  de  Vaca  felt  his 
heart  strangely  stirred  within  him.  He  gave  no 
thought  to  the  dangers  of  his  situation  ;  he  per- 
ceived only  that  he  had  the  opportunity  of  a  life- 
time to  discover  something.  So,  remembering  that 
in  far  Mexico  his  fellow  countrymen  were  known  to 
24 


dwell,  he  pretended  to  pull  a  long  face  and  told  his 
companions  that  to  reach  the  Mexican  settlements 
was  the  only  hope  of  surviving.  Then  brandishing  his 
sword  in  a  becoming  manner  he  called  to  them  to 
come  on,  and  led  them  across  the  unexplored  con- 
tinent of  North  America,  in  the  year  of  grace 
!536,  by  a  route  which  incidentally  included  what 
is  now  known  as  New  Mexico.  Thus,  in  sub- 
stance, runs  the  legend,  which  adds  that  he  had  a 
queer  tale  to  tell,  on  arrival,  of  Seven  Cities  of 
Cibola,  and  outlandish  people  of  heathen  appear- 
ance and  notions,  but  of  temperate  and  industrious 
habits  withal,  and  presumably  rich  in  treasures  of 
silver  and  gold  ;  which  incited  Coronado  to  send 
out  an  expedition  under  Marcos  de  Nizza  in  1539, 
and  a  year  later  himself  to  take  charge  of  the  first 
real  invasion,  conquering  native  towns  by  force  of 
arms  on  his  way. 

But  in  the  light  of  modern  historical  research 
Cabeza  de  Vaca's  local  fame  dwindles ;  his  head 
diminishes.  It  is  denied  that  he  ever  saw  New 
Mexico,  and  the  title  of  discoverer  is  awarded  to 
Marcos  de  Nizza.  It  does  not  really  matter,  for 
in  either  event  the  conquest  was  by  Coronado,  in 
whose  footsteps  Spanish  colonization  was  first 
enabled  to  advance  into  the  territory,  which,  it 
should  be  remembered,  was  for  a  long  time  there- 
after a  vaguely  defined  area  of  much  greater  extent 
than  to-day.  The  friars  early  began  their  work  of 
founding  missions,  and  in  the  course  of  time  estab-  ' 
lished  forty  churches,  attended  by  some  30,000 
25 


native  communicants.  These  natives  revolted  in 
1680,  and  drove  the  Spaniards  out  of  the  territory, 
successfully  resisting  their  return  for  a  period  of 
twelve  years.  From  the  time  of  their  ultimate 
subjection  (1692)  the  country  grew  in  population 
and  commercial  importance  until,  early  in  the  pres- 
ent century,  its  trade  with  Missouri  and  the  East 
became  very  valuable.  The  route  traversed  by 
pack-mules  and  prairie  schooners  loaded  with  mer- 
chandise will  forever  be  remembered  as  the  Santa 
Fe  Trail,  and  was  almost  identical  with  that  fol- 
lowed by  Coronado. 

It  is  at  present  for  the  greater  part  of  the  dis- 
tance the  route  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa 
Fe  Railway  between  the  Missouri  River  and  Santa 
Fe ;  and  through  western  Kansas,  southeastern 
Colorado,  over  the  Raton  Pass  and  at  many  points 
in  New  Mexico,  may  easily  be  seen  from  the  train. 
The  distance  was  800  miles,  and  a  round  trip  then 
consumed  no  days. 

Merchandise  to  an  enormous  value  was  often 
carried  by  a  single  caravan.  In  spite  of  the  pro- 
tection of  a  strong  military  escort  the  trail  was 
almost  continuously  sodden  with  human  blood  and 
marked  by  hundreds  of  rude  graves  dug  for  the 
mutilated  victims  of  murderous  Apaches  and  other 
tribes.  Every  scene  recounted  by  romances  of 
Indian  warfare  had  its  counterpart  along  the  Santa 
Fe  Trail.  The  ambush,  the  surprise,  the  mas- 
sacre, the  capture,  the  torture,  in  terrifying  and 
heart-breaking  detail,  have  been  enacted  over  and 
over.  26 


Only  with-  the  advent  of  the  railroad  did  the 
era  of  peace  and  security  begin.  To-day  the 
Apache  is  decimated  and  harmless,  and,  with  the 
Pueblo  Indian  and  the  Mexican,  forms  a  romantic 
background  to  a  thriving  Anglo-Saxon  civilization. 

It  is  this  background  that  gives  New  Mexico  its 
peculiar  charm  to  the  thoughtful  tourist ;  not  alone 
its  tremendous  mountain  ranges,  its  extensive 
uplands,  its  fruitful  valleys,  or  its  unsurpassed 
equability  of  climate.  Its  population  includes  9,500 
Pueblo  Indians,  4,000  Navajoes  and  1,350  Apaches. 

RATON  TO  LAS  VEGAS. 

The  Culebra  and  Cimarron  ranges.of  the  Rockies 
shut  in  the  lower  western  sky  as  the  train  whirls 
along  southward  from  Raton  to  Las  Vegas.  En 
route  you  pass  Springer,  whence  stages  run  to  the 
Red  River  mines  and  to  Taos  pueblo ;  Wagon 
Mound,  a  former  Mexican  frontier  customhouse  and 
a  picturesque  point  on  the  Santa  Fe  trail;  and  Wat- 
rous,  at  the  head  of  Mora  Canyon,  near  old  Fort 
Union.  Mora  Canyon  is  fifty  miles  long,  a  rather 
modest  affair,  compared  with  Apache  Canyon  and 
the  greater  gorges  of  Arizona,  but  typical  of  this 
land  of  deeply  cutting  streams. 
27 


The  little  Rio  Gallinas  issues  by  a  tortuous  path 
through  rugged,  tree-fringed  canyon  walls  from  a 
spur  of  the  Rockies  half  a  dozen  miles  northwest 
from  the  city  of  Las  Vegas.  These  vegas  or 
meadows  gradually  broaden  until  they  finally  open 
up  into  the  broad  New  Mexican  plain  that  sweeps 
away  toward  the  southeast.  Almost  at  the  verge 
of  plain  and  mountain,  the  city  of  Las  Vegas  has 
grown  into  prominence.  It  is  the  commercial 
metropolis  of  northern  New  Mexico,  and  the  second 
city  in  the  Territory  in  size  and  importance.  Its 
8,OOO  inhabitants,  with  the  consequent  social  life, 
its  important  wool-shipping  interests,  and  the  fact 
that  it  is  the  headquarters  of  the  New  Mexican 
division  of  the  Santa  Fe  System,  may  not  in  them- 
selves be  things  to  attract  special  attention  from 
the  traveler.  But  there  are  other  things  at  Las 
Vegas. 

First  of  all  for  the  stranger,  there  has  been 
built  a  new  hotel,  so  conspicuous  in  its  comfort 
and  its  attractions  as  to  command  attention.  The 
Castaneda  it  is  called,  recently  erected  near  the 
depot,  and  combining  the  functions  of  a  railway 
dining-room  and  hotel.  It  is  a  long,  low  building 
two  stories  high,  faced  with  brick,  roofed  with  red 
tiles,  and,  architecturally  speaking;  patterned  after 


The  Castaneda. 


the  old  California  missions.  This  hotel  is  strictly 
modern  throughout  in  equipment  and  in  manage- 
ment. It  is  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Fred 
Harvey,  whose  name  stands  as  a  synonym  of  satis- 
factory hotel  management. 

Las  Vegas  itself,  with  its  large  stores,  banks, 
offices,  hotel,  and  town  life,  its  attractive  climate 
and  its  accessibility,  entertains  many  a  stranger  in 
the  course  of  a  year,  and  is  steadily  growing  in 
popularity  as  a  resort.  Its  surroundings,  readily 
visited  by  strangers,  offer  varied  forms  of  entertain- 
ment. 


LAS  VEGAS  TO  ALBUQUERQUE. 

Traveling  from  Las  Vegas  to  Albuquerque  the 
Glorieta  range  of  the  Rockies  is  crossed  through 
Glorieta  Pass  (altitude,  7,453  feet).  The  upclimb 
takes  you  near  Starvation  Peak,  best  seen  from 
Chapelle  station.  One  legend  says  that  a  large 
band  of  Spaniards  was  surrounded  here  by  Nava- 
jos  in  1800  and  starved  to  death;  another  story 
ascribes  the  cross  on  summit  to  the  Brotherhood  of 


Pueblo  of  Taos. 


Penitentes.  However  the  name  may  have  origi- 
nated, the  peak  itself  is  a  prominent  landmark. 

Not  far  from  the  main  line,  the  head  waters  of 
the  Pecos  River  can  be  reached  —  a  famous  haunt 
of  the  black-spotted  mountain  trout.  Within  ten 
miles  of  Glorieta  there  are  a  number  of  deep  pools, 
which,  carefully  whipped  with  the  proper  flies,  will 
yield  trout  weighing  up  to  four  pounds.  Parties 
wishing  to  fish  in  the  Pecos  can  find  accommoda- 
tions at  Windsor's,  twenty  miles  from  Glorieta. 
Every  little  pool  in  the  Mora  River,  a  tributary  of 
the  Pecos  near  this  point,  seems  to  be  alive  with 
trout,  though  the  larger  fish  are  more  abundant  in 
the  main  stream.  Rainbow  and  eastern  brook 
trout  are  nearly  as  plentiful  as  the  native  varieties  — 
a  rare  combination  in  objects  of  the  angler's  desire. 

The  crumbling  ruins  of  old  Pecos  Church  — 
most  venerable  pile  in  New  Mexico  —  are  four 
miles  from  Pecos  station,  on  the  mythical  site  of 
that  Aztec  city  where  Montezuma  is  said  to  have 
been  born. 

The  downward  ride  is  through  Apache  Canyon, 
31 


where,  in  1847,  noted  battles  were  fought  between 
Kearney's  army  of  the  West  and  the  Mexicans, 
and  in  1862  between  Federal  and  Confederate 
forces.  Even  here  in  the  mountain  solitudes  war 
would  not  be  denied  its  cruel  harvest.  At  Lamy 
(named  for  the  good  archbishop)  there  is  a  branch 
line  to  Santa  Fe.  The  main  line  continues  along 
the  tortuous  Galisteo  River  to  the  Rio  Grande 
del  Norte  at  Thornton,  and  down  that  sluggish 
stream  of  the  sand-bars  to  Albuquerque,  the  com- 
mercial metropolis  of  central  New  Mexico. 

Albuquerque,  the  point  of  junction  of  three  lines 
of  the  Santa  Fe  System  —  that  from  the  East,  that 
to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  that  to  the  Mexican 
boundary  —  has  never  been  extensively  advertised 
as  a  health  resort,  though  it  possesses  valid  claims 
for  being  so  considered.  Its  attractions  have  been 
multiplied  by  the  erection  of  a  splendid  new  rail- 
way hotel,  the  Alvarado,  conducted,  as  is  the  Cas- 
taneda  at  Las  Vegas,  by  Mr.  Fred  Harvey.  As 
the  traveler  leaves  the  train,  this  hotel  is  his  first 
and  most  enduring  impression.  A  wide-spreading, 
low  building,  like  a  great  Spanish  mission  save  for 
its  newness ;  rough,  gray  walls  and  afar-reaching 
procession  of  arches ;  a  red-tiled  roof  with  many 
towers  —  this  is  the  Alvarado.  It  looks  out  across 
the  plain  to  where  purple  distant  peaks  are  set 
against  a  turquoise  sky.  Behind  it  lies  the  city ; 
before  it  the  valley  stretches  to  the  shouldering 
hills.  The  hotel  proper  is  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  long,  sixty  yards  wide,  and  is  built  around  a 
32 


court  or  peristyle,  as  its  general  archi- 
tecture demands.  It  is  connected  by  a 
two  hundred  foot  arcade  with  the  new 
Santa  Fe  depot,  an  edifice  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  artistic  lines  of  the 
main  structure.  In  form  and  color,  as 
well  as  historical  association  and  the  detailed  beauty 
of  its  generous  plan,  the  Alvarado  is  a  distinct  archi- 
tectural achievement.  Inside,  the  Spanish  effect  in 
decoration  is  thoroughly  and  consistently  observed. 
The  dining  hall  is  the  largest  room  in  the  building. 
Its  furnishings,  severely  elegant  in  design,  contrast 
pleasantly  with  the  snow  and  glitter  of  the  tables  ;  a 
great  projecting  fireplace  adds  the  inevitable  cheer 
of  an  open  hearth.  But  of  the  hotel,  as  such, 
nothing  need  be  said  except  that  it  is  the  master- 
piece of  the  Harvey  system ;  and  this  fact,  to  the 
traveler  who  knows,  is  all-sufficient. 

It  furnishes  to  the  tourist  a  most  luxurious 
stopping-place  in  the  midst  of  a  trans-continental 
journey  —  an  enjoyable  and  interesting  rest  on  the 
way  to  California. 

A  special  attraction  which  the  Alvarado  offers, 
not  to  be  duplicated  elsewhere,  is  a  very  fine 
collection  of  Indian  relics  and  products,  gathered 
during  years  of  studious  effort.  In  Moki,  Navajo, 
Zuni,  Apache,  Pima  and  Mexican  treasures  of 
handicraft  this  collection  is  well  nigh  unrivaled, 
and  more  than  justifies  a  halt  in  the  attractive 
hotel  which  houses  it.  It  is  planned  to  here 
assemble  Navajo  and  Moki  weavers,  potters, 
33 


silversmiths  and  basketmakers  engaged  in  their 
various  crafts.  A  model  of  an  Indian  pueblo  is 
shown  ;  also  the  finest  wares  from  all  the  neigh- 
boring region. 

Albuquerque  itself  lies  at  an  altitude  of  4,935 
feet  above  sea  level,  on  a  sunny  slope  of  a  broad 
plain,  amply  protected  against  sudden  storms  by  the 
neighboring  high  mountain  ranges.  The  winters 
are  generally  open  and  bright,  and  the  atmosphere 
almost  wholly  devoid  of  humidity.  The  ancient 
settlement  dates  back  to  the  Spanish  invasion, 
while  the  new  town,  with  a  population  of  10,000 
Americans  and  all  the  improvements  of  a  young 
city,  had  its  beginning  with  the  advent  of  the  Santa 
Fe  Railway. 

But  Albuquerque,  aside  from  its  life  as  a  new 
commercial  center,  makes  other  and  more  subtle  de- 
mands upon  the  attention  ;  while  not  equal  to  Santa 
Fe  as  a  picture  of  the  past,  the  years  have  also 
touched  it  with  old  colors.  The  Mexican  quarter 
—  the  old  town  —  still  sleeps  in  the  sun  as  it  did  a 
century  —  two  centuries  —  ago.  And  all  about  it 
are  the  dwellings  of  the  most  conservative  people, 
the  Pueblos  of  the  Rio  Grande  valley,  living  as 
their  fathers  lived  before  the  first  invader  came. 


SANTA  FE. 

In  1605  the  Spaniards  founded  this  city  under  the 
name  La  Ciudad  Real  de  la  Santa  Fe  de  San  Fran- 
cisco (the  True  City  of  the  Holy  Faith  of  St.  Francis), 

34 


North  Entrance,  The  Alvarado. 


which,  like  many  another  ponderous  Spanish  title, 
has  been  reduced  to  lower  terms  in  the  lapse  of  time. 
It  occupies  a  plain  rimmed  by  mountains  whose 
peaks  tower  to  heights  of  10,000  and  13,000  feet. 
The  extraordinary  interest  of  its  early  days  is  kept 
alive  by  monuments  which  the  kindly  elements  pro- 
tect from  the  accustomed  ravages  of  the  centuries. 
The  territorial  governor  to-day  receives  his 
guests  in  the  same  room  that  served  visitors  in  the 
time  of  the  first  viceroy.  Eighteen  American  and 
seventy-six  Mexican  and  Spanish  rulers  have  suc- 
cessively occupied  the  palace.  Here  it  was  that 
General  Lew  Wallace  wrote  "Ben  Hur."  It  has 
survived  all  those  strange  modulations  by  which  a 
Spanish  province  has  become  a  territory  of  the 
Union  bordering  on  statehood.  The  story  of  the 
palace  stretches  back  into  real  antiquity,  to  a  time 
when  the  Inquisition  had  power,  when  zealous 
friars  of  the  Order  of  St.  Francis  exhorted  throngs 
of  dimly  comprehending  heathen,  and  when  the 
mailed  warriors  of  Coronado  told  marvelous  uncon- 
tradicted  tales  of  ogres  that  were  believed  to  dwell 
in  the  surrounding  wilderness.  Beneath  its  roof  are 
garnered  priceless  treasures  of  that  ancient  time, 
which  the  curious  visitor  may  behold.  There  are 
faded  pictures  of  saints  painted  upon  puma-skins, 
figures  laboriously  wrought  in  wood  to  shadow 
forth  the  Nazarene;  votive  offerings  of  silver,  in  the 
likeness  of  legs,  arms  and  hands,  brought  to  the 
altar  of  Our  Lady  by  those  who  had  been  healed 
of  wounds  or  disease;  rude  stone  gods  of  the 


heathen,  and  domestic  utensils  and  implements  of 
war.  There,  too,  may  be  seen  ancient  maps  of  the 
New  World,  lettered  in  Latin  and  in  French,  on 
which  California  appears  as  an  island  of  the  Pacific, 
and  the  country  at  large  is  confidently  displayed  with 
grotesque  inaccuracy. 

Nearly  a  mile  distant  from  the  palace,  on  an 
eminence  overlooking  the  town,  stands  the  old 
Chapel  Rosario,  now  neighbored  by  the  Ramona 
school  for  Apache  children.  In  1692  Diego  de 
Vargas,  marching  up  from  the  south,  stood  upon 
that  hill  with  his  little  army  of  2OO  men  and  looked 
over  into  the  city  from  which  his  countrymen 
had  been  driven  with  slaughter  a  dozen  years 
before.  There  he  knelt  and  vowed  to  build  upon 
the  spot  a  chapel  for  the  glorification  of  Our  Lady 
of  the  Rosary,  provided  she  would  fight  upon 
his  side. 

The  town  was  carried  by  assault  after  a  des- 
perate contest  of  eleven  hours'  duration,  and  the 
chapel  was  built.  It  savors  quaintly  to  us  of  a  less 
poetic  age  that  those  royal  old  adventurers  should 
have  thought  themselves  hand  and  glove  with  the 
celestial  powers;  but  they  certainly  made  acknowl- 
edgment of  services  rendered  upon  occasion. 

There  are  other  places  of  antiquarian  interest, 
where  are  stored  Spanish  archives  covering  two 
and  a  quarter  centuries,  and  numerous  paintings 
and  carvings  of  great  age ;  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady  of  Light,  the  Cathe- 
dral of  San  Francisco,  and 
36 


finally  the  Church  of  San  Miguel  and  the  Old 
House,  isolated  from  everything  that  is  in  touch 
with  our  century  by  their  location  in  the  heart  of 
a  decrepit  old  Mexican  village.  Here,  at  last,  is 
the  real  Santa  Fe  of  the  traveler's  anticipation ;  a 
straggling  aggregation  of  low  adobe  huts,  divided 
by  narrow  winding  lanes,  where  in  the  sharply 
defined  shadows  leathern-faced  old  men  and  women 
sit  in  vacuous  idleness  and  burros  loaded  with  fire- 
wood or  garden  truck  pass  to  and  fro;  and  in  small 
groups  of  chattering  women  one  catches  an  occa- 
sional glimpse  of  bright  interrogating  eyes  and  a 
saucy  face,  in  spite  of  the  closely  drawn  tapelo. 

If  now  some  sturdy  figure  in  bright,  clanking 
armor  should  obligingly  pass  along,  you  would 
have  an  exact  picture  of  the  place  as  it  appeared 
two  and  a  half  centuries  ago.  Nothing  but  that 
figure  has  departed  from  the  scene,  and  substan- 
tially nothing  new  has  entered  in.  It  does  not 
change.  The  hurrying  activities  and  transitions  of 
the  outer  world,  from  which  it  is  separated  by  only 
a  narrow  arroyo ,  count  for  nothing  here.  One 
questions  if  the  outline  of  a  shadow  has  altered  for 
generations.  The  Old  House,  where  Coronado  is 
said  to  have  lodged  in  1540,  and  the  Church  of 
San  Miguel,  which  was  sacked  in  1680,  are  not 
distinguishable  from  their  surroundings  by  any  air 
of  superior  age.  All  is  old,  a 
petrifaction  of  medieval  human  *£ 

life  done  in  adobe. 


The 

Governor's      \.v 
Palace. 


T-f-tS-p  •?•-•*•==-= 

s  ^ife 

JL  ,._^  J./-s.-?7;v  .      f£ 


sfies- 

these   many-  ^»-«p 


Moki  Pueblo  of  Wolpi. 

PUEBLOS. 

More  than  a  score  of 
chambered  communal  homes  are  scat- 
tered over  New  Mexico.  Taos, 
Picuris,  San  Juan,  Santa  Clara,  San  Ilde- 
fonso,  Pojoaque,  Nambe  and  Teseque 
are  within  twenty  to  ninety-five  miles  of  Santa 
Fe,  their  population  varying  from  twenty-five 
to  four  hundred  persons.  From  Thornton  one  may 
reach  the  pueblos  of  Cochiti.San  Domingo  and  San 
Felipe,  while  Sandia,  Jemez,  Zia  and  Santa  Ana  are 
in  the  vicinity  of  Albuquerque.  Few  tourists  know 
that  the  Pueblo  Indians  of  New  Mexico  own  900,000 
acres  of  land,  and  that  since  the  treaty  of  Guadeloupe 
Hidalgo  in  1848  they  have  been  full-fledged  United 
States  citizens,  though  not  voting,  and  maintaining 
their  own  forms  of  government.  Three  of  the  most 
important  pueblos  are  Isleta,  Laguna,  and  Acoma. 
Isleta  and  Laguna  are  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
railroad,  ten  miles  and  sixty-six  miles,  respectively, 
beyond  Albuquerque,  and  Acoma  is  reached  from 
Laguna  or  Cubero  by  a  drive  of  fifteen  miles.  Meals 
and  lodging  may  be  obtained  at  several  places  near 
the  depot.  Team  and  driver  for  Acoma  costs 
38 


$5-OO  for  one  passenger  and  $6.00  for  two.  The 
trip  is  easily  made  in  a  day. 

The  aboriginal  inhabitants  of  the  pueblos,  an 
intelligent,  complex,  industrious  and  independent 
race,  are  anomalous  among  North  American  natives. 
Many  are  housed  to-day  in  the  self-same  structures 
in  which  their  forebears  were  discovered,  and  in 
three  and  a  half  centuries  of  contact  with  Europeans 
their  manner  of  life  has  not  materially  changed. 
The  Indian  tribes  that  roamed  over  mountain  and 
plain  have  become  wards  of  the  Government. 
But  the  Pueblo  Indian  has  absolutely  maintained 
the  integrity  of  his  individuality,  self-respecting  and 
self-sufficient.  The  extent  to  which  he  has  adopted 
the  religion  of  his  Spanish  conquerers,  or  the 
teachings  of  his  present  guardians,  amounts  to 
only  a  slight  concession  from  his  persistent  con- 
servatism. 

Laborious  efforts  have  been  made  to  penetrate 
the  reserve  with  which  the  involved  inner  life  of 
this  strange  child  of  the  desert  is  guarded,  but 
it  lies  like  a  vast  dark  continent  behind  a  dimly 
visible  shore,  and  he  dwells  within  the  shadowy 
rim  of  a  night  that  yields  no  ray  to  tell  of  his 
origin. 


Pueblo  oJ  Zuni. 


i^.__    Hotel  Alvar ado, 
Albuquerque. 


He  is  a  true  pagan,  swathed  in  seem- 
ingly  dense  clouds  of  superstition,  rich  in 
fanciful  legend,  and  profoundly  cere- 
monious in  religion.  His  gods  are 
innumerable.  Not  even  the  ancient  Greeks  pos- 
sessed a  more  populous  Olympus.  On  that  austere 
yet  familiar  height  gods  of  peace  and  of  war,  of  the 
chase,  of  bountiful  harvest  and  of  famine,  of  sun 
and  rain  and  snow,  elbow  a  thousand  others  for 
standing-room.  The  trail  of  the  serpent  has 
crossed  his  history,  too,  and  he  frets  his  pottery 
with  an  imitation  of  its  scales,  and  gives  the  rattle- 
snake a  prominent  place  among  his  deities. 
Unmistakably  a  pagan,  yet  the  purity  and  well- 
being  of  his  communities  will  bear  favorable  com- 
parison with  those  of  the  enlightened  world.  He  is 
brave,  honest  and  enterprising  within  the  fixed  limits 
of  his  little  sphere,  his  wife  is  virtuous,  his  children 
are  docile.  And  were  the  whole  earth  swept  bare 
40 


of  every  living  thing,  save  for  a  few  leagues  sur- 
rounding his  tribal  home,  his  life  would  show  little 
disturbance.  Possibly  he  might  not  at  once  learn 
of  so  unimportant  an  occurrence.  He  would  still 
alternately  labor  and  relax  in  festive  games,  still 
reverence  his  gods,  and  rear  his  children  to  a  life 
of  industry  and  content,  so  anomalous  is  he,  so 
firmly  established  in  an  absolute  independence. 

Pueblo  architecture  possesses  nothing  of  the  elab- 
orate ornamentation  found  in  so-called  Aztec  ruins 
in  Mexico.  The  house  is  usually  built  of  stone, 
covered  with  adobe  cement,  and  is  severely  plain. 
It  is  commonly  two  or  three  stories  in  height,  of 
terrace  form,  and  joined  to  its  neighbors.  The 
prevailing  entrance  is  by  means  of  a  ladder  to  the 
roof  of  the  lowest  story. 

The  most  strikingly  interesting  of  New  Mexican 

pueblos  is  Acoma.     It  is  built  upon  the  summit  of 

a  table-rock  with  eroded  precipitous  sides,  350  feet, 

above  the  plain,  which  is  7,000  feet  above  the  sea. 

41 


Pueblo  of  Laguna, 


Acoma  pueblo  is  i  ,000  feet  in  length  and  40  feet 
high,  and  there  is  besides  a  church  of  enormous 
proportions.  Formerly  it  was  reached  only  by  a 
hazardous  stairway  in  the  rock,  up  which  the  inhab- 
itants carried  upon  their  backs  every  particle  of  the 
materials  of  which  the  village  is  constructed;  but 
easier  pathways  now  exist.  The  graveyard  con- 
sumed forty  years  in  building,  by  reason  of  the 
necessity  of  bringing  earth  from  the  plain  below ; 
anc.  the  church  must  have  cost  the  labor  of  many 
generations,  for  its  walls  are  60  feet  high  and  10 
feet  thick,  and  it  has  timbers  40  feet  long  and  14 
inches  square. 

The  Acomas  welcomed  the  soldiers  of  Coronado 
with  deference,  ascribing  to  them  celestial  origin. 
Subsequently,  upon  learning  the  distinctly  human 
character  of  the  Spaniards,  they  professed  allegiance, 
but  afterward  wantonly  slew  a  dozen  of  Zaldivar's 
men. 

By  way  of  reprisal  Zaldivar  headed  threescore 
soldiers  and  undertook  to  carry  the  sky-citadel  by 


assault.  After  a  three  days'  hand-to-hand  struggle 
the  Spaniards  stood  victors  upon  that  seemingly 
impregnable  fortress,  and  received  the  submission 
of  the  Queres,  who  for  three-quarters  of  a  century 
thereafter  remained  tractable.  In  that  interval  the 
priest  came  to  Acoma  and  held  footing  for  fifty 
years,  until  the  bloody  uprising  of  1680  occurred, 
in  which  priest,  soldier,  and  settler  were  massacred 
or  driven  from  the  land,  and  every  vestige  of  their 
occupation  was  extirpated.  After  the  resubjection 
of  the  natives  by  Diego  de  Vargas  the  present 
church  was  constructed,  and  the  Pueblos  have 
not  since  rebelled  against  the  contiguity  of  the 
white  man. 

Anciently,  according  to  a  native  tradition,  for 
which  Mr.  C.  F.  Lummis  is  authority,  the  original 
pueblo  of  Acoma  stood  upon  the  crest  of  the 
Enchanted  Mesa,  430  feet  above  the  valley,  three 
miles  away,  but  its  only  approach  was  one 
day  destroyed  by  the  falling  of  a  cliff,  and 
three  sick  women,  who  chanced  to  be  the 
only  occupants  —  the  remainder  of  the  popu- 
lation being  at  work  in  the  fields  below — 
perished  there,  beyond  reach  of  aid  from 
their  people,  who  then  built  a  new  pueblo  2i' 
on  the  present  site. 

In   1897  an  Eastern  college  professor  laid 
siege  to  the  Mesa  Encantada  with  a  mortar 
and  several  miles  of  assorted  ropes,   supple- 
mented by  pulleys,  a  boatswain's  chair,  and  a   f 
43 


team  of  horses.  By  these  aids  the  summit  was 
reached,  but  the  party  reported  that  nothing  was 
found  to  indicate  that  it  had  ever  been  visited 
before  by  man. 

A  few  weeks  later,  Dr.  F.  W.  Hodge,  of  the 
Bureau  of  Ethnology,  made  the  ascent  with  several 
companions,  aided  by  a  few  short  ladders,  a  guide 
rope,  and  experience  in  mountaineering.  This 
party  found  a  number  of  potsherds  and  fragments 
of  implements  and  ornaments,  all  of  ancient  type, 
and  vigorously  championed  the  claim  that  the  mesa 
was  once  inhabited. 

Afterward  another  party,  including  Mr.  Lummis, 
Dr.  David  Starr  Jordan,  and  Prof.  T.  H.  Hittell, 
similarly  ascended  and  were  similarly  rewarded. 
The  adherents  of  the  legend  assert  that  the  gnaw- 
ing tooth  of  centuries  of  summer  storm  and  winter 
frost  would  inevitably  denude  the  summit  of  every 
relic  of  that  olden  time  save  such  as  have  been 
securely  pocketed  in  crevices  instead  of  washing 
away.  The  talus  of  the  mesa  abounds  in  ancient 
potsherds,  and  the  rapid  annual  rise  of  rock  detritus 
at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  not  only  lends  corroboration 


Turquoise-drilling. 


but  shows  how  recently  the  mesa  has  ceased  to  be 
unscalable.  Even  so,  it  will  be  long  before  the 
casual  tourist  will  aspire  to  its  giddy  crest. 

Laguna  ("the  lake")  was  founded  in  1699  by 
refugees  from  Acoma,  Zuni,  and  Cochiti,  on  a  high 
rock  near  the  San  Jose  River.  Its  old  Spanish 
mission  name  was  San  Josef  de  la  Laguna.  Several 
great  battles  were  fought  here  with  the  Navajos 
and  Apaches.  The  Laguna  Indians  also  occupy 
tributary  villages,  such  as  Paquate,  Negra,  Encinal, 
and  Casa  Blanca. 


III. 


ARIZONA. 

THE  portion  to  be  traversed  is  a  land  of  pro- 
digious mountain  terraces,  extensive  plateaus, 
profound  canyons,  and  flat,  arid  plains,  dotted  with 
gardens  of  fruits  and  flowers,  patched  with  vast 
tracts  of  pine  timber,  and  veined  with  precious 
stones  and  metals,  alternating  with  desolate  beds 
of  lava,  bald  mountainous  cones  of  black  and  red 
volcanic  cinder,  grass-carpeted  parks,  uncouth  vege- 
table growths  of  the  desert,  and  bleak  rock  spires, 
above  all  which  white  peaks  gleam  radiantly  in 
almost  perpetual  sunlight.  The  long-time  residents 
of  this  region  are  unable  to  shake  off  its  charm, 
even  when  no  longer  compelled  by  any  other  con- 
sideration to  remain.  Its  frequent  wide  stretches 
of  rugged  horizon  exert  a  fascination  no  less  pow- 
erful than  that  of  arduous  mountain  fastnesses  or 
the  secret  shadows  of  the  dense  forest. 

There  is  the  same  dignity  of  Nature,  the  same 
mystery,  potent  even  upon  those  who  can  least 
define  its  thrall. 

47     .4H 


Miners  confess  to  it,  and  herdsmen.  To  the 
traveler  it  will  appear  a  novel  environment  for  con- 
temporaneous American  life,  this  land  of  sage  and 
mesquite,  of  frowning  volcanic  piles,  shadowed  can- 
yons, lofty  mesas  and  painted  buttes.  It  seems 
fitter  for  some  cyclopean  race;  for  the  pterodactyl 
and  the  behemoth.  Its  cliffs  are  flung  in  broad, 
sinuous  lines  that  approach  and  recede  from  the 
w£y,  their  contour  incessantly  shifting  in  the  simil- 
itude of  caverns,  corridors,  pyramids,  monuments, 
and  a  thousand  other  forms  so  full  of  structural  idea 
that  they  seem  to  be  the  unfinished  work  of  some 
giar>t  architect  who  had  planned  more  than  he 
could  execute. 

The  altitude  is  practically  the  same  as  that  of  the 
route  through  New  Mexico,  undulating  between 
5,000  and  7,000  feet  above  sea-level,  until  on  the 
western  border  the  high  plateaus  break  rapidly  down 
to  an  elevation  of  less  than  500  feet  at  the  valley 
of  a  broad  and  capricious  stream  that  flows  through 
alternate  stretches  of  rich  alluvial  meadow  and 
barren  rock-spires  —  obelisks  rising  against  the  sky. 
This  stream  is  the  Colorado  River,  wayward, 
strenuous,  and  possessed  of  creative  imagination  and 
terrific  energy  when  the  mood  is  on.  It  chiseled 
the  Grand  Canyon,  far  to  the  north  and  east,  and 
now  complacently  saunters  ocean  ward.  Despite 
its  quiet  air,  not  long  ago  it  conceived  the  whim 
to  make  a  Saken  Sea  far  to  the  south,  and  the 
affair  was  a  national  sensation  for  many  months. 

The  great  cantilever  bridge  that  spans  it  here  (the 


second  largest  of  its  kind  in  the  world)  was  made 
necessary  by  the  restless  spirit  of  the  intractable 
stream.  The  main  suspended  span  is  660  feet  in 
length  and  the  cantilever  arms  each  165  feet;  the 
cost  was  half  a  million  dollars.  Only  a  few  years 
ago  the  crossing  was  by  means  of  a  huge  pile  bridge 
several  miles  toward  the  north  ;  but  the  river  shifted 
its  channel  so  frequently  it  was  thought  desirable  to 
build  a  new  bridge  down  here  among  the  enduring 
obelisks,  which  are  known  as  The  Needles.  It  is 
a  picturesque  spot,  full  of  color,  and  the  air  has  a 
pure  transparency  that  lends  depth  and  distance  to 
the  view,  such  as  the  bird  knows  in  its  flight. 

The  Needles  form  the  head  of  the  gorgeoXisly 
beautiful  Mojave  Canyon,  hidden  from  view.  The 
Colorado  is  an  inveterate  lover  of  a  chaotic  chan- 
nel. 

It  is  its  genius  to  create  works  of  at*  on  a  scale 
to  awe  the  spirit  of  cataclysm  itself.  It  is  a  true 
Hellespont,  issuing  from  cimmerian  gloom  to  loiter 
among  sunny  fields,  which  it  periodically  waters 
with  a  fertilizing  flood ;  and  while  you  follow  its 
gentle  sweep  it  breaks  into  sudden  uproar  and  hews 
a  further  path  of  desolation  and  sublimity.  .  One 
who  does  not  know  the  canyons  of  the  Colorado 
has  never  experienced  the  full  exaltation  of  those 
impersonal  emotions  to  which  the  Arts  are 
addressed.  There  only  are  audience-halls  fit  for 
tragedies  of  .^schylus,  for  Dante  and  the  Sagas. 

The  known  history  of  Arizona  begins  with  the 
same  Mark  of  Nice  whom  we  have  already 


accredited  as  the  discoverer  of  New  Mexico,  ot 
which  this  Territory  was  long  a  part :  and  here,  as 
well,  he  was  followed  by  Coronado  and  the  mis- 
sionaries. This  is  the  true  home  of  the  Apache, 
whose  unsparing  warfare  repeatedly  destroyed  the 
work  of  early  Spanish  civilization  and  won  the  land 
back  for  a  time  to  heathenesse.  Its  complete  acqui- 
sition by  the  United  States  dates  from  1853,  and 
in  the  early  days  of  the  Civil  War  it  was  again 
devastated. 

After  its  successful  reoccupation  by  California 
troops  in  1862,  settlers  began  to  penetrate  its 
northern  portion.  Nearly  twenty  years  later  the 
first  railroad  spanned  its  boundaries,  and  then 
finally  it  became  a  tenable  home  for  the,  Saxon, 
although  the  well-remembered  outbreak  of  Gero- 
nimo  occurred  only  nineteen  years  ago.  To-day  the 
war-thirsty  Apaches  are  widely  scattered  among  dis- 
stant  reservations,  and  with  them  has  departed  the 
last  existing  element  of  disturbance.  But  Arizona 
will  never  lose  its  peculiar  atmosphere  of  extreme 
antiquity,  for  in  addition  to  those  overwhelming 
chasms  that  have  lain  unchanged  since  the  infancy 
of  the  world,  it  contains  within  its  borders  the 
ruins  of  once  populous  cities,  maintained  by  an  enor- 
mous irrigation  system  which  our  modern  science 
has  not  yet  outdone ;  whose  history  was  not  writ- 
ten upon  any  lasting  scroll ;  whose  peoples  are 
classed  among  the  undecipherable  antiquities  of  our 
continent,  their  deeds  unsung,  their  heroes  unchron- 
icled  and  unknown. 

5" 


Yet,  if  you  have  a  chord  for  the  heroic,  hardly 
>hall  you  find  another  land  so  invigorating  as  this 
of  Arizona.  It  stiffens  the  mental  fiber  like  a  whiff 
of  the  north  wind.  It  stirs  in  the  blood  dim  echoes 
of  days  when  achievement  lay  in  the  might  of  the 
individual  arm  ;  when  sword  met  targe  in  exhilara- 
ting struggles  for  supremacy.  The  super-refinement 
of  cities  dissipates  here.  There  is  a  tonic  breeze 
that  blows  toward  simple  relations  and  a  lusty  self- 
hood. 

ALBUQUERQUE  TO  NEEDLES. 

The  Santa  Fe,  in  traversing  western  New  Mex- 
ico and  Arizona,  climbs  the  Continental  Divide 
from  Albuquerque  (altitude  4,935  feet)  to  Guam 
(altitude  6,996  feet), .a  distance  of  136  miles,  along 
the  interesting  valleys  of  the  Puerco  and  San  Jose. 
There  follows  a  downhill  slide  of  150  miles  to 
Winslow  (altitude  4,343  feet)  beside  the  Puerco 
and  Little  Colorado  rivers.  The  engine  then  puffs 
up  grade  for  many  miles  through  fragrant  pine  for- 
ests to  a  point  just  beyond  Flagstaff.  There  is  a 
slight  down  grade  to  Ash  Fork  (altitude  5,129 
feet),  another  rise  of  twenty-seven  miles  to  Selig- 
man  (altitude  5,260  feet),  and  then  the  train 
easily  drops  down  a  150-mile  incline  to  Needles, 
the  descent  being  nearly  a  mile,  almost  to  sea- 
level.  You  would  scarcely  notice  the  difference  at 
any  given  point,  unless  by  comparison  with  track 
behind  or  ahead. 


The  principal  scenes  en  route  will  be  briefly 
noted,  without  attempting  adequate  description. 

Isleta,  little  island,"  is  a  picturesque  pueblo  in 
the  Rio  Grande  Valley,  occupied  by  six  hundred 
Indians  who  own  flocks,  cultivate  vineyards  and 
work  in  silver.  Laguna  is  mentioned  elsewhere. 
Cubero  is  a  quiet  Mexican  village,  three  miles 
trom  the  station,  where  quaint  ceremonies  — 
brought  from  Old  Mexico  —  still  hold  sway;  the 
San  Mateo  Mountains  are  on  the  north  from 
Cubero  to  Grant's.  Northeast  of  McCarty's  is 
Acomita,  an  offshoot  of  Acoma  pueblo.  Lava  beds 
are  seen,  McCarty's  to  beyond  Bluewater.  The 
Zuni  Mountains  are  southwest  of  Grant's  station ; 
San  Rafael  is  on  the  road  thither  in  a  beautiful 
valley;  here,  also  at  Cubero  and  San  Rafael,  the 
strange  rites  of  the  Penitentes  are  performed : 
southward  are  the  pictured  mesa  fronts  visible  as 
far  as  Gallup. 

There  is  a  low  cone  north  of  Bluewater  called 
Tintero,  meaning  inkstand,  whence  lava  once  pro- 
fusely flowed.  The  station  of  Chaves  is  named 
for  a  noted  Indian  fighter  of  early  days.  From 
Thoreau,  three  miles  east  of  Continental  Divide, 
various  interesting  canyons  and  Indian  pueblos  may 
be  reached,  notably  Pueblo  Bonito,  whose  ancient 
ruins  cover  seven  acres,  one  building  containing  a 
thousand  rooms. 

Between  Guam  and  Wingate  are  Navajo  Church 
and  Pyramid  Rock.  Inscription  Rock  is  fifty  miles 
southeast  of  Wingate.  The  southern  border  of 


A  Navajo  Weaver. 


A 


the  Navajo  reservation  is  ten  to  fifty  miles  north 
of  the  railway  in  northeastern  Arizona.  The 
Navajos  frequently  visit  Wingate,  Canyon  Diablo 
and  intermediate  stations.  They  are  a  pastoral 
people,  progressive,  intelligent  and  self-supporting. 
They  own  large  numbers  of  cattle,  sheep  and 
goats,  till  small  farms,  make  the  celebrated  Navajo 
blankets,  and  are  expert  silversmiths. 

Thirty-five  miles  south  of  Zuni  Station,  on  Zuni 
River,  is  the  pueblo  of  Zuni,  inhabited  by  a  thou- 
sand Indians,  made  famous  through  the  writings 
of  an  energetic  ethnologist,  Mr.  Frank  Gushing, 
who  lived  in  the  pueblo  for  four  years,  first  as  a 
welcome  guest  and  then  as  a  member  of  the  tribe. 
The  Zunis  have  always  been  an  imperious  people. 


Their  history  prior  to  the  Spanish  occupation  indi- 
cates that  they  were  at  that  time  the  dominant 
Pueblos.  The  Zuni  ceremonial  dances  are  of 
world-wide  renown.  Gallup  is  the  best  point  of 
departure  for  Zuni  village.  The  trip  is  a  com- 
fortable carriage  ride  of  six  hours  each  way,  over 
.good  roads  and  through  impressive  scenery.  Ex- 
penses are  about  five  dollars  per  day  for  each 
person.  Room  and  board,  at  Zuni,  can  be  ob- 
tained at  the  house  of  the  resident  trader. 

Canyon  de  Chelly  lies  fifty  miles  north  of  Man- 
uelito. Adamana  and  Holbrook  are  points  of 
departure  for  Petrified  Forest.  Holbrook  is  the 
railroad  station  for  Fort  Apache,  several  Indian 
villages  and  interior  Mormon  settlements.  The 
Painted  Desert  and  Moki  buttes  north  of  Wins- 
low,  and  the  Mogollon  Mountains  south,  are 
prominent  features  of  the  landscape ;  the  old  Con- 
tinental stage  route,  a  continuation  of  the  Santa 
Fe  Trail,  passed  through  Winslow.  Canyon  Diablo, 
Flagstaff,  Williams  and  Ash  Fork  are  referred  to 
further  on.  There  is  a  good  wagon  road  from  Peach 
Springs,  by  way  of  Diamond  Creek,  to  the  Colo- 
rado River,  affording  at  the  terminus  a  river  view 
instead  of  a  rim  view  of  the  Grand  Canyon. 

The  Hualapai  and  Havasupai  Indian  agency  is 
located  at  Hackberry.  The  Hualapai  mainly  live 
at  near-by  stations,  or  act  as  herders ;  the  Havasu- 
pais  reside  in  Cataract  Canyon,  a  tributary  of  the 
Grand  Canyon. 

54 


PETRIFIED  FORESTS. 

From  remotest  epochs  earth  has  striven  against 
the  encroaching  slime  of  seas  in  a  wasting  struggle 
to  free  her  face  to  air.  Those  who  are  learned 
may  tell  you  where  she  is  left  most  deeply  scarred 
by  the  conflict,  but  in  this  region  where  her 
triumph,  if  barren,  is  complete,  ^nd  the  last 
straggling  columns  of  her  routed  foe  are  sourly 
retreating  oceanward,  at  least  her  wounds  are 
bare,  and  with  them  many  a  strange  record  which 
she  thought  to  lock  forever  in  her  bosom0  Long 
ere  Noah  fell  adrift  with  the  heterogeneous  com- 
pany of  the  ark,  or  Adam  was,  perhaps  even  before 
the  ancestral  ape  first  stood  erect  in  the  posture  of 
men  that  were  to  be,  forests  were  growing  in  Ari- 
zona, just  as  in  some  parts  they  grow  to-day.  And 
'.t  befell  in  the  course  of  time  that  they  lay  pros- 
trate and  over  them  swept  the  waters  of  an  inland 


Eons  passed,  and  sands  like  drifting  snowflakes 
buried  them  so  deep  the  plesiosaurus  never  sus- 
pected their  grave  beneath  him  as  he  basked  his 
monstrous  length  in  the  tropic  waters  and  hungrily 
watched  the  pterodactyl  lolling  in  the  palm-shade 
on  the  rim.  Then  the  sea  vanished,  the  uncouth 
denizens  of  its  deeps  and  shores  became  extinct, 
and  craters  belched  forth  volcanic  spume  to  spread 
a  further  mantle  of  oblivion  over  the  past.  Yet 
somewhere  the  chain  of  life  remained  unbroken, 
and  as  fast  as  there  came  dust  for  worm  to  burrow 
in,  mould  for  seed  to  sprout  in,  and  leaf  for  insect 
to  feed  on,  life  crept  back  in  multiplying  forms, 
only  to  retreat  again  before  the  surge  of  ele- 
mental strife  after  a  century  or  after  a  thousand 
years. 

The  precise  sequence  of  local  events  as  here 
sketched  must  not  be  too  critically  scanned.  The 
aim  is  to  suggest  an  approximate  notion,  to  those 
who  possess  no  better,  of  some  prodigious  happen- 
ings which  have  a  bearing  on  our  immediate 
theme.  If  still  one  chance  to  lack  a  working  idea, 
let  him  remember  that  the  solid  surface  of  the 
earth  is  ceaselessly  changing  contour,  that  it  act- 
ually billows  like  the  ocean  sea.  It  merely  moves 
more  slowly,  for  if  the  gradual  upheavals  and 
depressions  of  the  earth's  crust  throughout  millions 
of  years  were  performed  within  the  brief  span  of 
an  hour,  you  would  have  the  wildest  conceivable 
spectacle  of  cold  rock  strata  become  as  fluctuant 
as  water,  and  leaping  and  falling  in  waves  whose 
56 


crests  towered  miles  in  air,  and  whose  lengths  were 
measurable  by  half  a  continent.  This  region  for 
hundreds  of  square  miles  was  once  sunk  so  low 
the  ocean  overflowed  it ;  then  upheaved  so  high 
the  brine  could  find  no  footing.  Again  a  partial 
depression  made  it  a  vast  repository  of  rivers  that 
drained  the  higher  levels,  which  in  time  was 
expelled  by  a  further  upheaval.  During  the  peri- 
ods of  subsidence  the  incoming  waters  deposited 
sand  and  silt,  which  time  hardened  to  rock.  But 
in  periods  of  upheaval  the  process  was  reversed  and 
the  outgoing  waters  gnawed  the  mass  and  labored 
constantly  to  bear  it  away. 

So,  to  return  to  our  long-buried  forest,  some 
10,000  feet  of  rock  was  deposited  over  it,  and  sub- 
sequently eroded  clean  away.  And  when  these 
ancient  logs  were  uncovered,  and,  like  so  many  Van 
Winkles,  they  awoke — but  from  a  sleep  many 
thousand  times  longer — to  the  sight  of  a  world 
that  had  forgotten  them,  lo!  the  sybaritic  chemistry 
of  nature  had  transformed  them  every  one  into 
chalcedony,  topaz,  onyx,  carnelian,  agate  and  ame- 
thyst. 

Thousands  of  acres  are  thickly  strewn  with 
trunks  and  segments  of  trunks,  and  covered  with 
chiplike  fragments.  There  are  several  separated 
tracts,  and  one  of  which  will  seem  to  the  aston- 
ished beholder  an  inexhaustible  store  of  gems, 
measurable  by  no  smaller  phrase 
than  millions  of  tons ;  a  profusion 
of  splinters,  limbs  and  logs,  every 

57 


Apache  Canyon. 


fragment  of  which  as  it  lies  would  adorn  the  col- 
lector's cabinet,  and,  polished  by  the  lapidary,  might 
embellish  a  crown.  Some  of  these  prostrate  trees 
of  stone  are  over  2OO  feet  in  length  and  seven  or 
eight  feet  in  diameter,  although  they  are  most  fre- 
quently broken  into  sections  by  transverse  fracture. 

One  of  these  huge  trunks,  its  integrity  still  spared 
by  time,  spans  a  canyon  fifty  feet  wide  —  a  bridge 
of  jasper  and  agate  overhanging  a  tree-fringed 
pool. 

The  forest  covers  many  thousands  of  acres,  in 
three  separate  tracts. 

The  First  Forest  is  distant  six  miles  from  Ada- 
mana,  being  the  one  most  frequently  visited.  It 
contains  the  notable  natural  log  bridge.  The 
Second  Forest  is  three  miles  south  of  the  first  one 
and  is  smaller.  The  Third  Forest  lies  thirteen 
miles  southwest  of  Adamana  and  sixteen  miles  south- 
east of  Holbrook  ;  it  is  the  largest  of  the  three  and 
has  the  most  unbroken  tree  trunks  of  great  size. 
58 


The  general  characteristics  of  these  differ- 
ent tracts  are  the  same. 

The  transportation  facilities  are  good. 
One  may  reach  all  three  Forests  from 
Adamana,  and  the  Third  Forest  from  Hoi 
brook.  Round-trip  fare  from  either  point 
is  $5.00  for  one  person  and  $2.50  each  for 
two  or  more  persons.  Mr.  Al.  Stevenson 
conducts  a  small  but  comfortable  hotel  at 
Adamana ;  rate  $2.50  a  day.  Also  hotel 
accommodations  at  Holbrook. 

MOKIS. 

The  Moki  pueblos  are  seven  in  number:  Orai- 
bi,  Shungopavi,  Shipaulovi,  Mishonginovi,  Wolpi, 
Sichomovi  and  Tewa  (also  called  Hano).  They 
are  embraced  in  a  locality  less  than  thirty  miles 
across,  and  are  the  citadels  of  a  region  which  the 
discovering  Spaniards  in  the  sixteenth  century 
named  the  Province  of  Tusayan.  They  are  not 
to  be  confounded  with  the  '  Seven  Cities  of 
Cibola,"  whose  site  is  now  known  to  be  Zuni, 
in  New  Mexico.  They  are  reached  by  a  pleasant 
two  days'  wagon  journey  northward  from  Canyon 
Diablo,  Holbrook  or  Winslow,  and  by  a  longer  route 
through  pine  forests  from  Gallup  in  New 
Mexico,  at  an  expense  of  from  $5  to  $7  a  day. 

The  peculiar  attractions  which  they  offer  to 
students  of  primitive  community  and  pagan 
ceremonies,  as  well  as  to  the  artist  seeking 
59 


MOKI  HAIR-DRESSING. 


strange  subjects,  or  the  casual  traveler  hoping  to  find 
a  new  sensation,  are  acting  to  draw  an  increasing 
number  of  visitors  every  year  at  the  time  of  their 
religious  festivities.  This  increasing  interest  has 
resulted  in  improving  the  means  of  access  without 
in  any  degree  modifying  the  conditions  of  the 
villages  themselves  or  the  Moki  ceremonies.  The 
latter  half  of  August  is  the  time  of  the  most  spec- 
tacular  fiestas,  and  at  that  season  a  wagon  journey 
from  the  railway  to  the  Province  of  Tusayan,  with 
the  consequent  camp  life  on  the  road  and  at  the 
pueblos,  need  be  no  hardship. 

There  are  no  tourist's  accommodations  at  the 
villages  except  such  few  rooms  or  houses  as  can  be 
rented  from  the  Molds  at  reasonable  rates.  Provi- 
sions and  such  household  comforts  as  the  traveler 
considers  indispensable  must  be  brought  in.  The 
roads  and  trails  lie  across  the  almost  level  Painted 
Desert,  which,  except  in  the  Little  Colorado  Val- 
ley and  around  a  few  springs  or  wells,  has  scant 
vegetation.  The  soil  is  sandy  or  rocky,  and  in 
August  the  weather  is  warm.  The  altitude,  aver- 
aging 6,000  feet,  insures  cool  nights,  and  the 
absence  of  humidity  forbids  that  the  daytime  heat 
should  be  oppressive.  Even  if  the  pueblos  as  an 
objective  did  not  exist,  a  voyage  into  that  country 
of  extinct  volcanoes  and  strangely  sculp- 
tured and  tinted  rock-masses  would  be  well 
worth  the  making.  Aside  from  the 
powerful  charm  exerted  by  this  region 
upon  all  visitors,  there  is  an  invigorat- 
61 


ing  tonic  quality  in  the  pure  air  of  Arizona  that 
is  better  than  medicine. 

Like  Acoma,  the  Mold  pueblos  are  perched 
on  the  crests  of  lofty  mesas,  and  at  the  first 
were  well  nigh  inaccessible  to  enemies,  their  only 
\approach  being  by  way  of  narrow,  precipitous 
foot  trails.  In  modern  times  less  difficult  paths 
have  been  constructed,  such  fortress  homes 
being  no  longer  needful  for  defense.  But  the 
conservative  Molds  continue  to  live  as  lived  their 
forebears  and  cling  to  their  high  dwelling  place. 
The  women  toil  up  the  trails  with  water  from 
the  spring  below,  and  the  men  returning  from 
the  fields  climb  a  small  mountain's  height  daily. 
They  are  industrious,  thrifty,  orderly  and  mirth- 
ful, and  are  probably  the  best  entertained  people 
in  the  world.  A  round  of  ceremonies,  each 
terminating  in  the  pageants  called  dances," 
keeps  going  pretty  continuously  the  whole  year, 
and  all  the  spectacles  are  free.  Subsisting  almost 
wholly  by  agriculture  in  an  arid  region  of  uncertain 
crops,  they  find  abundant  time  between  their  labors 
for  lighthearted  dance  and  song,  and  for  elaborate 
ceremonials,  which  are  grotesque  in  the  Kachina, 
or  masked  dances,  ideally  poetic  in  the  Flute  dance, 
and  intensely  dramatic  in  the  Snake  dance. 


Of  the  last  two,  both  of  which  are  drama- 
tized prayers  for  rain  at  an  appointed  season,  the 
former  is  picturesque  in  costume  and  ritual,  and 
impressive  in  solemn  beauty;  the  latter  is  grim  and 
startling,  reptiles —  including  a  liberal  proportion  of 
rattlesnakes — being  employed  as  messengers  to 
carry  petitions  to  the  gods  of  the  underworld,  who 
are  supposed  to  have  power  over  the  rain  cloud. 

Xo  the  onlooker  it  seems  impossible  that  venom- 
ous snakes  can  be  handled  so  audaciously  without 
inflicting  deadly  wounds,  yet  it  is  positively  known 
that  they  are  in  nowise  deprived  of  their  natural 
power  to  do  so.  There  are  those  who  claim  to 
have  seen  the  dancers  bitten  by  their  rattlesnake 
partners,  but  the  claim  lacks  confirmation  by  care- 
ful scientific  observers,  who  incline  to  the  belief  that 
the  snake  priests  avoid  injury  by  dexterity  and  a 
knowledge  of  reptile  ways.  It  is  true  that  the 
priests  possess  a  secret  antidote,  to  which  they 
resort  in  cases  of  snakebite,  which  occasionally 
befalls  the  barefoot  natives,  but  even  in  the  land  of 
the  snake  dance  such  casualties  are  uncommon  and 
the  efficacy  of  the  antidote  remains  a  matter  for 
investigation.  That  the  dancers  are  some- 
times  bitten  is  pretty  well  established,  but  the 
observer  may  not  have  distinguished  the  harm- 
less from  the  venomous  snakes,  which  are 
intermingled,  and  the  Mokis  are  reticent  to 
subsequent  inquiry. 

Moki  is  a  nickname.      It  is  said  to  signify 
"dead,"  and  to  have  been  applied  at  a  time 
63 


of  devastation  by  smallpox,  that  gift  of  civilized 
man  to  the  savage.  Among  themselves  they  are 
known  as  Hopi,  "good  (or  peaceful)  people."  It 
is  to  be  regretted  that  a  name  so  much  worthier 
these  friendly  and  interesting  aborigines  cannot  be 
restored  to  current  usage. 

The  Mokis  are  hospitable  to  all  respectful  visit- 
ors, and  they  may  be  visited  at  any  time  of  the 
year  except  in  midwinter,  although  the  season  of 
the  religious  feasts  made  famous  by  the  snake  dance 
is  the  time  of  the  greatest  attraction. 

Extended  mention  of  the  Mokis  and  their  cus- 
toms, with  ample  illustration,  will  be  found  in  a 
separate  publication,  "Indians  of  the  Southwest." 


CANYON  DIABLO. 


This  is  a  profound  gash  in  the  plateau,  some  225 
feet  deep, .550  feet  wide,  and  many  miles  long.  It 
has  the  appearance  of  a  volcanic  rent  in  the  earth's 
crust,  wedge-shaped,  and  terraced  in  bare  dun  rock 
down  to  the  thread  of  a  stream  that  trickles 
through  the  notch.  It  is  one  of  those  inconsequent 
things  which  Arizona  is  fond  of  displaying.  For 
many  miles  you  are  bowled  over  a  perfectly  level 
plain,  and  without  any  preparation  whatever,  save 
only  to  slacken  its  pace,  the  train  crosses  the  chasm 
by  a  spider-web  bridge,  225  feet  high  and 
600  feet  long,  and  then  speeds  again  over 
64 


the  self-same  placid  expanse. 
In  the  darkness  of  night  one 
might  unsuspectingly  step  off 
into  its  void,  it  is  so  entirely 
unlocked  for.  Yet,  remark- 
able as  is  the  Canyon  Diablo, 
in  comparison  with  those 
grand  gorges  hereafter  to  be 
mentioned,  it  is  worth  little 
better  than  an  idle  glance. 

Several  miles  southeast  of  Canyon  Diablo  is  a 
remarkable  place  called  Meteorite  Mountain,  where 
it  is  supposed  that  a  colossal  sky-wanderer  once 
fell.  The  craterlike  cavity  marking  its  crash  'into 
the  earth  is  a  mile  wide.  Large  fragments  of 
meteoric  stone  have  been  found  near  by  containing 
small  diamonds. 

Mr.  F.  W.  Volz,  Indian  trader  here,  is  prepared 
to  take  visitors  to  the  Moki  villages  and  Meteorite 
Mountain  at  any  time.  His  facilities  are  unusually 
good  and  charges  reasonable. 


FLAGSTAFF. 

Although  the  construction  of  the  railway  from 
Williams  to  the  verge  of  the  Grand  Canyon  of 
Arizona  has  removed  from  Flagstaff  the  distinction 
of  being  the  gateway  to  that  greatest  wonder  of 


the  world,  Flagstaff  is  itself  pictorial  in  character 
and  rich  in  interest.  From  it  one  finds  access  to 
most  remarkable  ancient  ruins  and  to  one  of  the 
most  practicable  and  delightful  of  our  great 
mountains.  It  stands  upon  a  clearing  in  an  exten- 
sive pine  forest  that  here  covers  the  plateau  and 
clothes  the  mountains  nearly  to  their  peaks ; 
although  the  word  park  better  describes  this  sunlit, 
grass-carpeted  expanse  of  widely  set,  towering  pines, 
where  cattle  graze  and  the  horseman  may  gallop 
at  will.  Couched  at  the  foot  of  a  noble  mountain 
that  doffs  its  cap  of  snow  for  only  a  few  weeks  of 
the  year,  and  environed  by  vast  resources  of  mate- 
rial wealth  in  addition  to  the  picturesque  and  his- 
torical features  of  its  surroundings,  it  is  fortunately 
located. 

The  extraordinarily  pure  atmosphere  of  this  ele- 
vated region  and  the  predominance  of  clear  weather 
gave  Flagstaff  the  Lowell  Observatory.  It  is 
charmingly  situated  in  the  heart  of  the  pines,  upon 
a  hill  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  Visitors  are 
made  welcome. 


Flagstaff. 


SAN  FRANCISCO  PEAKS. 

Here,  as  in  many  other  parts  of  the  West,  the 
actual  height  of  a  mountain  is  greater  than  is  appar- 
ent to  the  eye.  The  ascent  begins  at  a  point 
considerably  above  where  the  Eastern  mountain 
climber  leaves  off,  for  the  reason  that  the  whole 
region  is  itself  a  prodigious  mountain,  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  square  miles  in  area,  of  which  the 
projecting  peaks  are  but  exalted  lookouts.  The 
summits  of  San  Francisco  Peaks  are  elevated 
nearly  13,000  feet  above  the  sea,  and  only  6,000 
feet  above  the  town  of  Flagstaff.  It  follows  that 
more  than  half  of  the  actual  ascent  has  been  made 
without  any  effort  by  the  traveler,  and  the  same 
altitude  is  attained  as  if  he  had  climbed  a  sheer 
height  of  13,000  feet  upon  the  rim  of  the  sea. 
There  is  the  same  rarefaction  of  air,  the  same  wide 
range  over  an  empire  that  lies  flat  beneath  the  eye, 
limited  only  by  the  interposition  of  other  mountains, 
the  spherical  contour  of  the  earth,  atmospheric 
haze,  or  the  power  of  vision  itself. 


The  apex  of  Humphrey's  Peak,  the  only  summit 
of  this  mountain  yet  practicable  for  the  tourist,  is 
little  more  than  ten  miles  from  Flagstaff,  and  an 
excellent  carriage  road  covers  fully  seven  miles  of 
the  distance.  From  the  end  of  that  road  a  com- 
fortable bridle-path  leads  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
topmost  crag.  The  entire  trip  may  be  made  on 
horseback  if  desired,  and  one  who  is  accustomed  to 
the  saddle  will  find  it  a  preferable  experience,  for 
then  short  cuts  are  taken  through  the  timber,  and 
there  is  so  much  the  more  of  freedom  and  the  charm 
of  an  untrammeled  forest.  The  toad  crosses  a 
short  stretch  of  clearing  and  then  enters  the  magnifi- 
cent pine  park,  rising  at  an  easy  grade  and  offering 
frequent  backward  glimpses.  The  strained,  con- 
scious severity  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  giants  is 
wanting  here.  It  is  a  mountain  without  egotism, 
breathing  gentlest  dignity,  and  frankly  fond  of  its 
robe  of  verdure.  Birds  flit  and  carol  in  its  treetops, 
and  squirrels  play.  Grass  and  fern  do  not  fear  to 
make  soft-cushioned  banks  to  allure  the  visitor, 
flowers  riot  in  their  season,  and  the  aspens  have 
whole  hillsides  to  themselves ;  soft,  twinkling  bow- 
ers of  delicate  green,  dells  where  one  could  wish  to 
lie  and  dream  through  long  summer  hours.  The 
bridle-path  begins,  with  the  conventional  zig-zag  of 
mountain-trails,  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  grass-grown 
terrace  that  lies  in  full  view  of  the  spreading  pano- 
rama below.  Above  that  sunny  girdle  the  trail 
winds  through  a  more  typical  mountain  forest, 
where  dead  stalks  of  pine  and  fir  are  plentifully 
68 


sprinkled  among  the  living,  and  ugly  swaths  show 
where  the  avalanche  has  passed.  Above  this,  for 
the  remaining  few  hundred  feet,  the  peaks  stand 
bare  —  stern,  swart  crags  that  brook  no  mantle 
except  the  snows,  encompassed  by  a  quiet  which 
only  the  wind  redeems  from  everlasting  silence. 

The  outlook  from  Humphrey's  Peak  is  one  of  the 
noblest  of  mountain  views.  It  commands  a  recog- 
nizable territory  of  not  less  than  seventy-five  thou- 
sand square  miles,  with  vague,  shadowy  contours 
beyond  the  circle  of  definite  vision.  Categorically, 
as  pointed  out  by  the  guide,  the  main  features  of 
the  landscape  are  as  follows:  Directly  north,  the 
farther  wall  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  at  the  Bright 
Angel  amphitheater,  fifty  miles  away;  and  topping 
that,  the  Buckskin  Mountains  of  the  Kaibab  Pla- 
teau, thirty  or  forty  miles  farther  distant.  To  the 
right,  the  Navajo  Mountains,  near  the  Colorado 
state  line,  200  miles.  In  the  northeast,  the  won- 
derful Painted  Desert,  tinted  with  rainbow-hues, 
and  the  Navajo  Reservation.  Below  that  the  Moki 
buttes  and  villages.  Toward  the  east,  the  broad 
plateau  and  desert  as  far  as  the  divide  near  Navajo 
Springs,  130  miles  east  from  Flagstaff  by  the  rail- 
road. In  the  southeast  the  White  Mountains, 
more  than  2OO  miles.  In  the  south,  successively,  the 
Mogollon  Plateau,  a  group  of  a  dozen  lakes — 
unlooked-for  sight  in  the  arid  lands  —  Baker's  Butte, 
the  Four  Peaks,  and  the  Superstition  Mountains 
near  Phoenix,  the  last  named  160  miles  distant.  In-' 
the  southwest,  the  Bradshaw  Mountains,  140  miles; 
69 


Granite  Mountain  at  Prescott,  100  miles,  and  the 
Juniper  Range,  150  miles.  The  horizon  directly 
west  is  vague  and  doubtful,  but  is  supposed  to  lie 
near  the  California  line.  In  the  northwest  a  dis- 
tant range  is  seen,  north  of  the  Colorado  River  and 
east  of  the  Nevada  line,  perhaps  the  Sheavwits  or 
the  Hurricane  Mountains.  Among  the  less  remote 
objects  are  the  Coconino  forest  and  basin  on  the 
north  ;  on  the  east  the  Little  Colorado,  traceable 
by  its  fringe  of  cottonwoods,  beds  of  lava  flung  like 
the  shadow  of  a  cloud  or  the  trail  of  a  conflagra- 
tion, and  Sunset  and  Peachblow  craters,  black  cones 
of  cinder  capped  with  red  scoria ;  on  the  south  and 
southwest  Oak  Creek  Canyon,  the  Jerome  smel- 
ters, and  the  rugged  pictorial  breakdown  of  the 
Verde  ;  under  foot,  Flagstaff ;  and  on  the  west  the 
peaks  of  Bill  Williams,  Sitgreaves  and  Kendricks, 
neighborly  near. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  the  grandeur  of  such  a  scene, 
San  Francisco  Peak  itself  soon  gains  and  monopo- 
lizes the  attention.  It  has  slopes  that  bend  in  a 
single  sweeping  curve  to  depths  which  the  brain 
reels  to  contemplate,  down  which  a  loosened  stone 
will  spin  until  the  eye  can  no  longer  distinguish 
its  course;  and  there  are  huge  folds  and  preci- 
pices and  abysses  of  which  no  hint  was  given  in 
the  ascent.  Perhaps  its  most  attractive  single  fea- 
ture is  a  profound  bowl-shaped  cavity 
between  Humphrey's  and  Agassiz  Peaks, 
overhung  by  strangely  sculptured  cliffs 
that  have  the  appearance  of  ruined 
70 


castle  walls  perforated  with  rude  doorways, 
windows  and  loopholes.  It  is  called  The  Crater, 
and  is  almost  completely  boxed  in  by  steep  but 
uniform  slopes  of  volcanic  dust,  in  descending 
which  a  horse  sinks  to  his  fetlocks.  On  one  side 
it  breaks  down  into  a  canyon  leading  off  to  the 
plain  and  set  with  tree,  grass,  fern  and  flower.  Its 
axis  is  marked  by  two  parallel  lines  of  bare  bowl- 
ders of  great  size,  that  might  have  been  thrown  up 
from  the  underlying  rock  by  some  prodigious  ebul- 
lition of  internal  forces. 

The  round  trip  to  the  peak  is  customarily  accom- 
plished in  a  day,  but  arrangements  may  be  made  to 
remain  upon  the  mountain  over  night  if  determined 
upon  in  advance,  and  such  a  plan  is  recommended 
to  those  who  are  reasonably  hardy  and  have  never 
seen  the  glories  of  sunset  and  sunrise  from  a 
mountain-height. 

GRAND    CANYON    OF  ARIZONA. 

The  series  of  tremendous  chasms  which  form  the 
channel  of  the  Colorado  River  in  its  course  through 
northern  Arizona  reach  their  culmination  in  a  cha- 
otic gorge  217  miles  long,  from  nine  to  thirteen 
miles  wide,  and,  midway,  more  than  6,OOO  feet 
below  the  level  of  the  plateau.  Standing  upon  the 
brink  of  that  plateau,  at  the  point  of  the  canyon's 
greatest  width  and  depth,  the  beholder  is  confronted 
by  a  scene  whose  majesty  and  beauty  are  well  nigh 
unbearable. 

Snatched  in  a  single  instant  glance  from  every 
accustomed  anchorage  of  human  experience,  the 
71 


stoutest  heart  here  quavers,  the  senses  cower.  It 
is  one  of  the  few  advertised  spots  which  one  need 
not  fear  approaching  with  anticipations  too  exalted. 
It  is  a  new  world,  compelling  the  tribute  of  sensa- 
tions whose  intensity  exceeds  the  familiar  signifi- 
cation of  words.  It  never  has  been  adequately 
described,  and  never  will  be.  If  you  say  of  Niaga- 
ra's gorge  that  it  is  profound,  what  shall  you  say 
of  the  Colorado's  chasm  that  yawns  beneath  your 
feet  to  a  depth  nearly  fifty  times  greater?  If  you 
have  looked  down  from  the  height  of  the  Eiffel 
tower  and  called  it  vertiginous,  what  shall  you  say 
when  you  are  brought  to  the  verge  of  a  gulf  at 
points  of  which  you  may  drop  a  plummet  five 
times  as  far?  And  when  you  face,  not  a  mere  nar- 
row frowning  gash  of  incredible  depth,  but  a  broad 
under-world  that  reaches  to  the  uttermost  horizon 
and  seems  as  vast  as  the  earth  itself ;  studded  with 
innumerable  pyramidal  mountains  of  massive  bulk 
hewn  from  gaudiest  rock-strata,  that  barely  lift 
the  cones  and  turrets  of  their  crests  to  the  level  of 
the  eye ;  divided  by  purple  voids ;  banded  in  vivid 
colors  of  transparent  brilliancy  that  are  harmonized 
by  atmosphere  and  refraction  to  a  marvelous  deli- 
cacy; controlled  by  a  unity  of  idea  that  redeems 
the  whole  from  the  menace  of  overwhelming 
chaos  —  then,  surely,  you  may  be  pardoned  if  your 
pen  halts.  Some  of  the  best  descriptive  writers 
have  prepared  accounts  of  this  wonderful  gorge  and 
its  surroundings.  Major  Powell,  Captain  Dutton, 


G.  Wharton  James,  and  others,  have  written 
magnificent  volumes  on  this  theme,  and  there  are 
graceful  pages  devoted  to  the  subject  in  the  book 
and  magazine  writings  of  such  men  as  Charles 
Dudley  Warner,  C.  F.  Lummis,  Joaquin  Miller  and 
Hamlin  Garland.  It  has  been  sympathetically 
painted  by  the  great  landscape  artist,  Thomas 
Moran,  and  men  like  Stoddard,  Holmes  and  Brigham . 
have  portrayed  its  grandeur  on  the  lecture  platform. 

A  special  publication  devoted  to  the  Grand 
Canyon  of  Arizona  is  issued  by  the  Santa  Fe  Sys- 
tem, which  contains  articles  by  some  of  these 
and  various  other  eminent  writers  who  have  visited 
the  canyon.  It  treats  the  subject  descriptively, 
historically  and  scientifically,  and  may  be  had 
for  a  nominal  price  upon  application  to  any  agent 
of  the  Santa  Fe  System.  A  few  paragraphs 
therefrom  are  here  inserted : 

"An  inferno,  swathed  in  soft  celestial  fires ;  a 
whole  chaotic  under-world,  just  emptied  of  pri- 
meval floods  and  waiting  for  a  new  creative  word  ; 
a  boding,  terrible  thing,  unflinchingly  real,  yet 
spectral  as  a  dream,  eluding  all  sense  of  perspective 
or  dimension,  outstretching  the  faculty  of  measure- 
ment, overlapping  the  confines  of  definite  appre- 
hension. The  beholder  is  at  first  unimpressed  by 
any  detail ;  he  is  overwhelmed  by  the  ensemble  of  a 
stupendous  panorama,  a  thousand  square  miles  in 
extent,  that  lies  wholly  beneath  the  eye,  as  if  he 
stood  upon  a  mountain  peak  instead  of  the  level 
brink  of  a  fearful  chasm  in  the  plateau  whose 

73 


opposite  shore  is  thirteen  miles  away.  A  labyrinth 
of  huge  architectural  forms,  endlessly  varied  in 
design,  fretted  with  ornamental  devices,  festooned 
with  lacelilce  webs  formed  of  talus  from  the  upper 
cliffs  and  painted  with  every  color  known  to  the 
palette  in  pure  transparent  tones  of  marvelous  deli- 
cacy. Never  was  picture  more  harmonious,  never 
flower  more  exquisitely  beautiful.  It  flashes  instant 
communication  of  all  that  architecture  and  paint- 
ing and  music  for  a  thousand  years  have  gropingly 
striven  to  express.  It  is  the  soul  of  Michael  Angelo 
and  of  Beethoven." 

"  The  panorama  is  the  real  overmastering  charm. 
It  is  never  twice  the  same.  Although  you  think 
you  have  spelt  out  every  temple  and  peak  and 
escarpment,  as  the  angle  of  sunlight  changes  there 
begins  a  ghostly  advance  of  colossal  forms  from  the 
farther  side,  and  what  you  had  taken  to  be  the 
ultimate  wall  is  seen  to  be  made  up  of  still  other 
isolated  sculptures,  revealed  now  for  the  first  time 
by  silhouetting  shadows.  The  scene  incessantly 
changes,  flushing  and  fading,  advancing  into  crys- 
talline clearness,  retiring  into  slumberous  haze." 

"  Long  may  the  visitor  loiter  upon  the  rim,  pow- 
erless to  shake  loose  from  the  charm,  tirelessly 
intent  upon  the  silent  transformations  until  the 
sun  is  low  in  the  west.  Then  the  canyon  sinks 
into  mysterious  purple  shadow,  the  far  Shinumo 
Altar  is  tipped  with  a  golden  ray,  and  against  a 
leaden  horizon  the  long  line  of  the  Echo  Cliffs 

75 


reflects  a  soft  brilliance  of  indescribable  beauty,  a 
light  that,  elsewhere,  surely  never  was  on  sea  or 
land.  Then  darkness  falls,  and  should  there  be  a 
moon,  the  scene  in  part  revives  in  silver  light,  a 
thousand  spectral  forms  projected  from  inscrutable 
gloom  ;  dreams  of  mountains,  as  in  their  sleep  they 
brood  on  things  eternal." 

Fortunately  the  way  to  the  canyon  is  now  easy. 
Instead  of  the  old  route  from  Flagstaff,  a  two  days' 
stage  journey  twice  a  week,  in  summer  only,  the 
tourist  can  now  make  the  trip  in  three  hours  by 
rail  any  day  in  the  year. 

Travelers  holding  through  tickets  who  wish  to 
visit  the  canyon  are  granted  stop-overs  at  Williams, 
a  town  of  1,500  inhabitants,  lying  in  the  shadow 
of  Bill  Williams  Mountain,  and  noted  for  its 
extensive  lumber  interests.  The  branch,  Williams 
to  the  canyon,  is  sixty-four  miles  long.  Two  daily 
trains  each  make  the  round  trip  in  six  hours. 

There  is  usually  ample  time  at  Williams,  between 
trains,  for  the  ascent  of  Bill  Williams  Mountain, 
which  rises  near  the  town  to  a  height  of  9,000  feet. 
Tourists  will  find  the  trip  thoroughly  enjoyable. 
It  can  be  made  in  five  hours  on  horseback  in  perfect 
safety.  The  trail  is  an  easy  one,  first  leading 
through  a  gently  sloping  path  of  pines,  then  steeply 
up  to  the  wind-swept  summit  alongside  a  pretty 
stream  bordered  by  thickets  of  quaking  aspens. 
Chimney  Rock,  with  its  eagle's  nest,  is  a  noteworthy 


THE  RIVER,  FOOT  OF  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 


rock  formation.  On  the  summit  is  buried  the  his- 
toric pioneer  scout,  Bill  Williams.  From  his  rest- 
ing-place there  is  a  wide  outlook. 

While  the  Grand  Canyon  may  be  reached  by 
private  conveyance  from  Flagstaff  or  Peach  Springs, 
in  open  weather,  the  main  travel  is  by  way  of 
Williams.  The  railway  terminus  at  Bright  Angel 
is  in  the  middle  of  the  granite  gorge  district.  From 
there  one  may  reach  by  carriage  the  eastern  and 
western  ends  thereof,  at  Grand  View  and  Bass's, 
where  tourists  will  find  picturesque  hotels,  good 
trail  stock  and  guides.  Cataract  Canyon,  rock- 
fortress  home  of  the  Supai  Indians,  lies  still  further 
west. 

Grand  View  Hotel  has  been  recently  improved 
by  the  erection  of  a  new  building  with  forty  guest 
rooms,  steam  heat  and  other  modern  conveniences. 

A  quarter-of-a-million-dollar  hotel,  "ElTovar" 
— named  for  Pedro  de  Tovar,  one  of  the  officers 
who  accompanied  Coronado's  expedition  through 
Arizona  in  1540 — was  opened  at  Bright  Angel  in 
January,  1905,  under  management  of  Mr.  Fred 
Harvey. 

El  Xovar  is  a  long,  low,  rambling,  rustic  edifice, 
solidly  built  of  native  boulders  and  pine  logs.  It 
contains  125  rooms.  All  the  luxuries  are  pro- 
vided, such  as  electric  light,  steam  heat,  hot  and 
cold  water,  room  telephones,  baths,  private  dining 
rooms,  a  solarium,  roof  gardens  and  music.  The 
furniture  is  of  arts  and  crafts  design.  The  inside 

79 


finish  is  mainly  peeled  slabs,  wood  in  the  rough 
and  tinted  plaster,  with  here  and  there  huge  wooden 
beams — for  all  the  world  like  a  big  country  club 
house.  Pure  spring  water  is  brought  from  a  great 
distance.  The  great  public  dining  room  is  a  notable 
attraction.  The  in-door  entertainment  of  guests  is  a 
special  feature. 

High  class  and  adequate  accommodations  for 
Grand  Canyon  travel  are  thus  assured.  The  old 
Bright  Angel  inn  will  be  converted  this  spring  into 
an  annex  camp,  where  comfortable  cottage  and 
tent  rooms  with  lunch  counter  meals  may  be  had 
at  cheaper  prices  than  El  Tovar  charges. 

Adjacent  is  a  unique  structure  occupied  by  Mold 
Indians,  who  here  engage  in  their  curious  handi- 
crafts. In  this  building  are  also  installed  several 
costly  Harvey  Indian  blanket  and  basket  collections 
—  prize-winners  at  the  St.  Louis  World's  Fair. 
Near  by  are  several  hogans,  where  a  number  of 
Navahos  live.  The  most  expert  basket-weavers  and 
pottery-makers  in  America  are  found  here. 

Fine  views  of  the  north  wall  and  river  may  be 
obtained  from  near-by  points.  The  horseback  jour- 
ney down  the  trail  to  the  Colorado  River  and  back 
is  a  novel  experience.  To  fairly  see  the  Grand 
Canyon  in  this  vicinity,  one  should  plan  to  stay  at 

least  three  days;  a  week  would  be  better. 

In  a  month  one  might  see  the  greater 

part  of  the  accessible  area  bordering  the 

principal  trails. 
80 


In  Cataract  Canyon. 


CLIFF  AND  CAVE  DWELLINGS. 

This  region  abounds  in  ruins  of  the  dwellings  of 
a  prehistoric  people.  The  most  important  lie  within 
a  radius  of  eight  miles  from  Flagstaff.  On  the 
southeast,  Walnut  Canyon  breaks  the  plateau  for  a 
distance  of  several  miles,  its  walls  deeply  eroded  in 
horizontal  lines.  In  these  recesses,  floored  and 
roofed  by  the  more  enduring  strata,  the  cliff  dwell- 
ings are  found  in  great  number,  walled  up  on  the 
front  and  sides  with  rock  fragments  and  cement, 
and  partitioned  into  compartments.  Some  have 
fallen  into  decay,  only  portions  of  their  walls 
remaining,  and  but  a  narrow  shelf  of  the  once 
broad  floor  of  solid  rock  left  to  evidence  their 
extreme  antiquity.  Others  are  almost  wholly  intact, 
having  stubbornly  resisted  the  weathering  of  time. 
Nothing  but  fragments  of  pottery  now  remain  of 
the  many  quaint  implements  and  trinkets  that 
characterized  these  dwellings  at  the  time  of  their 
discovery. 

Fixed  like  swallows'  nests  upon  the  face  of  a 
precipice,  approachable  from  above  or  below  only 
by  deliberate  and  cautious  climbing,  these  dwell- 
ings have  the  appearance  of  fortified  retreats  rather 
than  habitual  abodes.  That  there  was  a  time,  in 
the  remote  past,  when  warlike  peoples  of  mysteri- 
ous origin  passed  southward  over  this  plateau,  is 
generally  credited.  And  the  existence  of  the  cliff- 


Si 


dwellings  is  ascribed  to  the  exigencies  of  that  dark 
period,  when  the  inhabitants  of  the  plateau,  unable 
to  cope  with  the  superior  energy,  intelligence  and 
numbers  of  the  descending  hordes,  devised  these 
unassailable  retreats.  All  their  quaintness  and 
antiquity  can  not  conceal  the  deep  pathos  of  their 
being,  for  tragedy  is  written  all  over  these  poor 
hovels  hung  between  earth  and  sky.  Their  build- 
ers hold  no  smallest  niche  in  recorded  history. 
Their  aspirations,  their  struggles  and  their  fate  are 
all  unwritten,  save  on  these  crumbling  stones, 
which  are  their  sole  monument  and  meager  epi- 
taph. Here  once  they  dwelt.  They  left  no  other 
•wmt  on  time. 

At  an  equal  distance  to  the  north  of  Flagstaff, 
among  the  cinder-buried  cones,  is  one  whose  sum- 
mit commands  a  wide-sweeping  view  of  the  plain. 
Upon  its  apex,  in  the  innumerable  spout-holes  that 
were  the  outlet  of  ancient  eruptions,  are  the  cave- 
dwellings,  around  many  of  which  rude  stone  walls 
still  stand.  The  story  of  these  habitations  is  like- 
wise wholly  conjectural.  They  may  have  been 
contemporary  with  the  cliff  dwellings.  That  they 
were  long  inhabited  is  clearly  apparent.  Frag- 
ments of  shattered  pottery  lie  on  every  hand. 


CENTRAL  AND   SOUTHERN    ARIZONA. 

From  Ash  Fork,  the  Santa  Fe,  Prescott  &  Phoenix 
Railway  (Santa  Fe  System)  extends  southward 
through  Prescott  to  Phoenix  and  thence  eastward 
to  Kelvin.  In  a  distance  of  about  275  miles 
the  traveler  is  afforded  glimpses  of  nearly  every 
variety  of  scenery  typical  of  the  territory.  There 
are  bleak,  barren  mountains,  and  mountains  covered 
with  forests  of  pine  or  cedar,  on  whose  slopes  are 
seen  the  dumps  of  world-famous  mines. 

There  are  rocky  desert  wastes  where  only 
uncouth  cacti  find  footing  to  give  some  poor  sem- 
blance of  life  and  hope,  and  vast  arid  stretches 
which  in  early  spring  are  overspread  with  flowers, 


r 


Prescott. 


among  which  the  poppy  predominates  and  by  virtue 
of  its  superior  size  and  brilliancy  carpets  the  ground 
with  an  almost  unbroken  sheet  of  tawny  flame,  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach  on  either  hand.  There  are 
waterless  canyons,  and  canyons  walling  turbid 
streams,  unreclaimed  vales  dotted  with  cattle,  and 
broad  irrigated  valley-plains  level  as  a  floor,  where 
is  cultivated  in  extraordinary  profusion  nearly  every 
variety  of  fruit,  nut  and  vegetable,  not  absolutely 
restricted  to  the  tropics,  in  addition  to  an  enor- 
mous acreage  of  alfalfa  and  the  ordinary  cereals  of 
the  north  temperate  zone. 

Were  it  not  that  modern  tourists  are  somewhat 
blase  with  respect  to  landscape  wonders,  and  if 
Arizona  did  not  seem  so  far  off,  so  out  of  the  world, 
it  would  be  as  much  a  fad  to  visit  Point  of  Rocks 
(once  an  Apache  stronghold),  near  Prescott,  as  to 
see  the  Garden  of  the  Gods.  The  first-named  is 
a  more  striking  bit  of  rock  grotesquerie  and  fash- 
ioned in  more  titanic  form. 

Going  south,  one  naturally  expects  warmer 
weather.  Nevertheless  it  comes  as  a  surprise  to 
note  how  abrupt  is  the  transition  from  bleak  winter 
to  budding  spring,  or  from  spring  to  full  midsum- 
mer, by  merely  taking  the  half-day  journey  from 
Ash  Fork  to  Phoenix.  There  is  not  only  an 
advance  into  sunland,  but  a  drop  toward  sea-level 
of  4,500  feet.  In  one  stretch  of  fourteen  miles  the 
descent  is  nearly  two  thousand  feet. 

En  route  you  reach  Hassayampa  River,  near 
Wickenberg — of  which  stream  it  is  affirmed  that 


whoever  drinks  of  its  waters  will  never  afterward 
tell  the  truth,  have  a  dollar,  or  leave  Arizona;  a 
statement  which  can  be  better  credited  after  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  a  certain  type  of  Arizona 
frontiersman.  If  he  tells  you  that  within  a  few 
miles  of  this  unreliable  place  is  the  reliable  Vulture 
Mine,  a  $20,000,000  producer,  the  tradition  will 
err,  for  the  Vulture  story  is  true. 

Both  north  and  south  of  Prescott  some  pretty 
engineering  problems  have  been  solved  by  rock-cuts, 
trestles,  detours,  and  loops.  At  Cedar  Glade  is  a 
steel  bridge  650  feet  long,  spanning  Hell  Canyon, 
170  feet  above  the  dry  stream  bed.  Here  in  a 
gorge  uptilted  rock-pillars  and  tremendous  bowlders 
lying  shoulder  to  shoulder  contest  the  passage  ; 
yonder,  on  a  slope,  you  may  see  far  below  a  second 
parallel  track,  and  below  that  a  third  forming  a 
sweeping  loop  by  which  the  safe  descent  of  the 
train  is  accomplished  and  the  ascent  of  the  opposite 
side  made  possible.  The  way  is  now  cautiously 
over  volcanic  beds  and  rock  terraces;  then  daringly 
along  the  sheer  faces  of  forbidding  cliffs  ;  and  again 
with  a  rush  and  swing  freely  across  level  plains. 

The  developed  agricultural  and  horticultural  areas 
are  in  the  neighborhood  of  Phoenix,  the  territorial 
capital  and  chief  city  of  Salt  River  Valley.  The 
climate  is  especially  friendly  to  invalids,  even  during 
the  hot  summer  months,  but  as  in  the  case  of  other 
Southwestern  health  and  pleasure 
resorts,  winter  brings  the  influx  of 
visitors.  The  beneficent  effect 


of  this  climate  upon  the  sick,  or  upon  those  who 
merely  seek  an  enjoyable  retreat  from  the  harsh 
winter  of  the  North  and  East,  is  not  easily  exag- 
gerated. The  soft  air  has  a  tonic  quality,  born  of 
purpled  mountains,  yellow  deserts  and  snowy  peaks. 
Low  humidity,  perpetual  sunshine  and  favorable 
breezes  tempt  the  invalid  out  of  doors  and  prolong 
life.  Whitelaw  Reid  writes  that  nowhere  has  he 
seen  a  purer  atmosphere.  It  reminds  him  of  the 
Great  Sahara  and  Mount  Sinai's  deserts.  He  con- 
siders southern  Arizona  as  drier  than  Morocco, 
Algiers  or  Tunis,  and  more  sunshiny  than  Egypt. 
Pulmonary  and  throat  diseases  are  benefited  to  a 
degree  that  borders  on  the  miraculous.  A  cure  is 
almost  certain,  if  one  comes  early  enough. 

Travelers  have  come  to  realize  the  favoring  con- 
ditions awaiting  them  here,  and  coincident  with 
the  increase  in  the  number  of  winter  visitors  has 
come  a  marked  improvement  in  the  hotel  accom- 
modations. The  construction  of  Hotel  Adams 
gave  to  Phoenix  a  caravansary  of  which  older  and 
more  populous  communities  might  well  be  proud. 
Its  prompt  prosperity  induced  the  erection  of  other 
modern  hotels,  with  the  result  that  Phoenix  is 
fully  supplied  with  proper  accommodations  for 
the  increasing  travel  to  the  Southwest. 

In  addition  to  a  full  complement 
of  hotels,  sanatoriums  and  hospi- 
tals, a  feature  is  made  of  "  tenting 
out"  in  the  open  desert 
^9*       all    winter,    to    get    full 


Phoenix. 

benefit  of  sun,  air  and  country  quiet.  But  Phoenix 
is  not  wholly  a  refuge  for  the  sick.  It  is  a  busy 
city  of  12,000  inhabitants,  mainly  composed  of 
strenuous  Americans,  where  merchants  thrive  and 
wealth  accumulates.  For  the  fashionable  visitors 
and  the  idle  born "  there  are  provided  golf 
grounds,  palm-shaded  drives,  clubs,  theaters,  the 
ease  of  well-kept  inns,  and  a  delightful  social  life. 
Many  wealthy  Easterners  stay  in  Phoenix  at  least 
a  part  of  each  winter. 

Strangers  will  be  interested  in  the  Pima  and  Mari- 
copa  Indians,  who  live  near  the  city  and  who  are 
daily  seen  on  its  streets  disposing  of  baskets,  bead- 
work,  pottery  and  mesquite.  They  and  their 
burros  add  to  the  gayety  of  nations.  To  observe 
the  wholly  up-to-date  Indian,  albeit  youthful,  it 
is  only  necessary  to  wheel  out  through  the  sub- 
urbs to  the  second  largest  Indian  Industrial  School 
in  the  United  States. 

The  valley,  of  which  Phcenix  is  the  center,  is 
one  of  marvelous  loveliness,  which  only  the 
painter's  art  can  convey  to  one  who  has  not 


IP 

Hotel  Adams,  Phcenix. 


beheld  it.  Of  the  valleys  of  the  West,  there  are 
four  pre-eminent  in  beauty  —  the  San  Gabriel  and 
Santa  Clara  in  California,  the  valley  of  Salt  Lake 
in  Utah,  and  this  of  the  Salt  River  in  Arizona. 
Across  the  restful  and  infinitely  modulated  green  of 
orchard  and  shade  trees,  of  alfalfa  and  barley  fields, 
of  orange  groves  and  palms,  the  eye  is  led  to  a  dis- 
tant horizon  of  rugged  mountains,  where  shifting 
light  and  shadow  make  an  endless  play  of  color, 
astonishingly  vivid  to  a  traveler  new  to  desert  land- 
scapes, and  unceasingly  attractive  day  after  day. 

It  is  for  this  Salt  River  Valley  that  the  United 
States  Government,  with  the  assistance  of  the  people 
to  be  benefited,  is  constructing  the  Tonto  Basin 
Reservoir  Dam,  one  of  the  largest  irrigating  projects 
in  the  world,  which  will  place  under  certain  irrigation 
additional  land  of  exceeding  fertility  and  will  make 
desirable  farm  homes  for  intending  settlers.  The 
earth  here  lies  full-faced  to  the  sun,  as  level  as  a  calm 
sea,  widening  to  twenty  miles  and  extending  east 
and  west  nearly  a  hundred.  The  sandy  soil  produces 
abundantly.  On  a  few  acres  one  may  make  a  fair 
living.  The  result  of  this  happy  combination  of 
salubrious  climate,  fertile  soil,  commercial  activity 
and  congenial  society,  is  to  make  Phoenix  a  pecu- 
liarly favored  place  for  the  traveler's  attention. 

The  Santa   Fe  has    recently  built    a   new  line 
southeast  from  Phcenix  to  Kelvin,   a  distance  of 
80  miles.     An  extension  is  planned  to 
Dudleyville,  opening  up  an  immense 
mineral  field  which  only  awaits  trans- 
88 


portation   facilities   to   profitably    and    abundantly 
produce  the  precious  metals. 

Prescott  is  a  lively  town  of  5,OOO  population,  its 
business  district  newly  built  from  the  ashes  of  a 
destructive  fire  in  1900.  Up  in  the  high  hills,  a 
mile  above  the  sea,  what  wonder  that  the  summers 
are  cool !  Prescott 's  growth  largely  depends  upon 
the  mineral  wealth  that  is  being  coaxed  out  of  the 
reluctant  Arizona  mountains  —  a  substantial  basis  of 
prosperity.  The  city  is  also  a  summer  resort  for  those 
who  wish  to  escape  the  heat  of  the  low-lying  valleys. 
Here  was  once  located  historic  Fort  Whipple,  the 
frontier  post  so  frequently  referred  to  in  Captain 
Charles  King's  novels.  That  peak,  rising  9,000 
feet  skyward,  is  Granite  Mountain;  you  would 
hardly  guess  it  is  all  of  twelve  miles  away. 

The  greatest  mineral  development  is  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  Prescott.  Here,  among  other  famous  depos- 
its, are  the  United  Verde  copper  mines  and  the 
Congress  and  Rich  Hill  gold  mines,  the  last  named 
situated  upon  an  isolated  summit,  where,  in  early 
days,  gold  was  literally  whittled  from  the  rock 
with  knives  and  chisels.  The  branch  lines 
from  Prescott  to  Crown  King  have  made  easy 
of  access  the  rich  gold  and  copper  mines  of 
that  flourishing  district.  Congress,  four  miles 
from  the  junction,  is  a  model  mining  town. 
The  United  Verde  copper 
mine  is  at  Jerome,  which 
place  is  reached  by  a  crooked ' 
narrow-gauge  line  built 
through  a  wild  country. 

89 


IV. 


SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

A  FEW  miles  beyond  the  Colorado  River  cross- 
•*•  *•  ing  at  Needles  is  the  railroad  station  of  that 
name,  where  the  remnant  of  the  once  powerful 
and  warlike  Mojave  tribe,  now  become  beggarly 
hangers-on  to  civilization,  love  to  congregate  and 
offer  inferior  wares  in  the  shape  of  bows  and 
arrows  and  pottery  trinkets  to  travelers  in  exchange 
for  coin.  Their  hovels  are  scattered  along  the  way- 
side, and  the  eager  congregation  of  women  ped- 
dlers, some  with  naked  babies  sitting  stoically  astride 
their  hips,  and  all  dubiously  picturesque  in  paint  and 
rags,  is  sufficiently  diverting.  The  men  attain  gigan- 
tic stature,  and  are  famed  for  their  speed  and  bot- 
tom as  runners ;  but  their  ability  might  be  fairly  taxed 
by  the  tourist  of  average  capacity  who  for  any  cause 
felt  himself  in  any  danger  of  being  compelled  to 
90 


share  their  abode  or  mingle  intimately  with  them. 
A  sound-heeled  Achilles  would  fall  behind  in  pur- 
suit of  the  fleer  from  such  a  sorry  fate. 

River  boats  occasionally  ply  between  the  Gulf  of 
California  and  Needles.  The  town  is  a  division 
point  on  the  Santa  Fe,  and  parties  outfit  here  for 
the  mines  roundabout. 

But  this  is  California,  the  much-lauded  land  of 
fruit  and  flower  and  sunny  clime,  of  mountain  and 
shore  and  sea-girt  isle;  land  of  paradoxes,  where 
winter  is  the  season  of  bloom  and  fruitage  and  sum- 
mer is  nature's  time  of  slumber.  The  traveler 
enters  it  for  the  first  time  with  a  vivid  preconception 
of  it  splendors. 

As  an  introduction  to  Southern  California  you 
are  borne  across  the  most  sterile  portion  of  the 
most  hopeless  waste  in  America,  whose  monotony 
intercepts  every  approach  to  California  except  that 
roundabout  one  by  way  of  the  sea.  On  either 
hand  lies  a  drear  stretch  of  sand  and  alkali,  relieved 
only  by  black  patches  of  lava  and  a  mountainous 
horizon  —  a  Nubian  desert  unmarked  by  a  single 
human  habitation  outside  the  lonely  path  of  the 
locomotive,  where  not  even  the  cry  of  a  wolf  breaks 
the  grim  silence  of  desolation.  Through  this  the 
train  hastens  to  a  more  elevated  country,  arid  still, 
but  relieved  by  rugged  rocks,  the  esthetic  gnarled 
trunks  and  bolls  of  the  yucca  and  occasional  growths 
of  deciduous  trees.  Craters  of  extinct  volcanoes 
form  interesting  landmarks,  and  there  are  a  num- 
ber of  rich  mining  districts  tributary  to  the  line, 


but  unseen  from  the  train.  A  strange  river,  the 
Mojave,  keeps  company  with  the  track  for  several 
miles,  flowing  gently  northward,  to  finally  lose 
itself  in  thirsty  sands.  At  Hesperia  are  vineyards  — 
first  hint  of  the  paradise  just  over  the  range. 

The  Santa  Ana  and  San  Gabriel  Valleys  of 
Southern  California  are  entered  through  the  Cajon 
Pass.  It  is  the  loveliest  imaginable  scene,  a  gently 
billowing  mountain  flank  densely  set  with  thickets 
of  manzanita,  gleaming  through  whose  glossy  foliage 
and  red  stems  the  pale  earth  rises  here  and  there  in 
graceful  dunes  of  white  unflecked  by  grass  or  shrub, 
overhung  by  parallel-terraced  ridges  of  the  San  Ber- 
nardino Mountains,  that  pale  in  turn  to  a  topmost 
height  far  in  the  blue  Italian  sky.  Entirely  want- 
ing in  the  austerity  that  characterizes  the  grander 
mountains  of  loftier  altitudes,  it  takes  you  from  the 
keeping  of  plateau  and  desert,  and  by  seductive 
windings  leads  you  down  to  the  garden  of  California. 
In  the  descent  from  the  summit  (altitude  38i9feet)a 
drop  of  2,700  feet  is  made  in  twenty-five  miles.  On 
reaching  San  Bernardino  typical  scenes  at  once 
appear.  On  either  hand  are  seen  orchards  of  the 
peach,  apricot,  prune,  olive,  fig,  almond,  walnut, 
and  that  always  eagerly  anticipated  one  of  the 
orange. 

You  will  not,  however,  find  this  whole  land  a 
jungle  of  orange  and  palm  trees,  parted  only  by  thick 
banks  of  flowers.  The  world  is  wide,  even  in 
California,  or,  one  might  better  say,  particularly  in 
California,  where  over  an  area  averaging  150  miles 


wide  and  I,OOO  miles  long  is  scattered  a  population 
less  than  that  of  the  city  of  Chicago.  It  is 
true  that  in  many  places  along  your  route  you  may 
almost  pluck  oranges  by  reaching  from  the  car 
window  in  passing;  but  the  celebrated  products  of 
California  lie  in  restricted  areas  of  cultivation,  which 
you  are  expected  to  visit;  and  herein  lies  much  of 
the  Californian's  pride,  that  there  still  remains  so 
much  of  opportunity  for  all.  There  is  everything 
in  California  that  has  been  credited  to  it,  but  what 
proves  not  uncommonly  a  surprise  is  the  relatively 
small  area  of  improved  land  and  the  consequent 
frequency  of  unfructed  intervals.  Only  a  moment's 
reflection  is  needed  to  perceive  that  the  case  could 
not  be  otherwise.  As  for  flowers,  even  here  they 
are  not  eternal,  except  in  the  thousands  of  watered 
gardens.  In  the  dry  summer  season  the  hills  turn 
brown  and  sleep.  Only  when  the  winter  rains  have 
slaked  the  parched  earth  do  the  grass  and  flowers 
awake,  and  then  for  a  few  months  there  is  enough 
of  bloom  and  fragrance  to  satisfy  the  most  exuber- 
ant fancy. 

Now  past  pretty  horticultural  communities, 
flanked  by  the  Sierra  Madre,  the  way  leads  quickly 
from  San  Bernardino  to  Pasadena  and  Los  Angeles 


Southward  from  the  last-named  city  you  pass 
through  a  fruitful  region,  and  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  the  impressive  mission-ruins  of  Capistrano,  to  a 
shore  where  the  long  waves  of  the  Pacific  break 
upon  gleaming  white  sands  and  the  air  is  of  the 
sea.  Blue  as  the  sky  is  the  Pacific,  paling  in  the 
shallows  toward  land,  and  flecked  with  bright  or 
somber  cloud  reflections  and  smurring  ripples  of  the 
breeze.  It  is  not  only  the  westerly  bound  of  the 
North  American  continent,  it  is  the  South  Seas  of 
old  adventure,  where  many  a  hulk  of  once  treasure- 
laden  galleons  lies  fathoms  deep  among  the  queer 
denizens  of  the  sea  who  repeat  wild  legends  of 
naughty  buccaneers.  There  is  challenge  to  the 
imagination  in  the  very  tracklessness  of  the  sea. 
On  the  wrinkled  face  of  earth  you  may  read  earth's 
story.  She  has  laid  things  to  heart.  She  broods 
on  memories.  But  the  sea  denies  the  past;  it  is  as 
heedless  of  events  that  were  as  the  air  is  of  the 
path  where  yesterday  a  butterfly  was  winging.  Its 
incontinent  expanse  is  alluring  to  the  fancy,  and 
this  sunset  sea  even  more  than  the  tempestuous 
ocean  that  beats  upon  our  eastern  shores,  for  it  is 
so  lately  become  our  possession  it  seems  still  a 
foreign  thing,  strewn  with  almost  as  many  wrecks 
of  Spanish  hopes  as  of  galleons;  and  into  its  broad 
bosom  the  sun  sinks  to  rise  upon  quaint  anti- 
podean peoples,  beyond  a  thousand  mysterious 
inhabited  islands  in  the  swirls  of  the  equatorial 
currents. 


>\ 


Next,  swinging  inland  to  find  the  pass  of  the 
last  intervening  hills,  you  make  a  final  descent  to 
the  water's  edge,  and  come  to  San  Diego,  that 
dreamy  city  of  Mediterranean  atmosphere  and 
color,  terraced  along  the  rim  of  a  sheltered  bay  of 
surpassing  beauty.  Guarding  the  mouth  of  the 
harbor  lies  the  long  crescent  peninsular  of  Coro- 
nado,  the  pale  fagades  of  whose  mammoth  hotel 
flash  through  tropical  vegetation  across  the  blue 
intervening  waters. 


OF  CLIMATE. 

Here  the  sun  habitually  shines.  Near  the  coast 
flows  the  broad  equable  Japanese  ocean-current, 
from  which  a  tempered  breeze  sweeps  overland 
every  morning,  every  night  to  return  from  the  cool 
mountain-tops.  Between  the  first  of  May  and 
the  last  of  October  rain  almost  never  falls.  By  the 
end  of  June  the  earth  has  evaporated  most  of  its 
surface  moisture,  and  vegetation  unsustained  by 
artificial  watering  begins  to  languish.  The  mid- 
day temperature  now  rises,  but  the  same  breeze 
swings  like  a  pendulum  between  ocean  and  moun- 
tain, and  night  and  early  morning  are  no  less  invig- 


orating.  This  is  summer,  a  joyous  and  active  sea- 
son generally  misconceived  by  the  tourist,  who  not 
unreasonably  visits  California  in  the  winter-time 
to  escape  Northern  cold  and  snow,  and  infers  an 
unendurable  torrid  summer  from  a  winter  of  mild- 
ness and  luxuriance. 

With  November  the  first  showers  generally 
begin,  followed  by  an  occasional  heavy  downpour, 
and  Northern  pastures  now  whiten  under  falling 
snow  hardly  faster  than  do  these  sere  hills  turn 
beryl-green.  The  rainy  season  is  so  called  not 
because  it  is  characterized  by  continuous  rainfall, 
but  to  distinguish  it  from  that  portion  of  the  year 
in  which  rain  can  not  be  looked  for.  Bright  days 
are  still  the  rule,  and  showery  days  are  marked  by 
transcendent  beauties  of  earth  and  sky,  fleeting 
wo'nders  of  form  and  color.  Let  the  morning  open 
with  a  murky  zenith,  dark  tumbled  cloud-masses, 
dropping  showers.  As  the  invisible  sun  mounts,  he 
peeps  unexpectedly  through  a  rift  to  see  that  his 
world  is  safe,  then  vanishes.  The  sky  has  an  unre- 
lenting look. 

The  dim,  guardian  mountains  are  obscured.  Sud- 
denly, far  to  the  left,  a  rift  breaks  dazzling  white, 
just  short  of  where  the  rain  is  falling  on  the  hills 
in  a  long  bending  column,  and  at  one  side  a  broad 
patch  pales  into  mottled  gray  ;  and  below  the  rift  a 
light  mist  is  seen  floating  on  the  flank  of  a  moun- 
tain that  shoots  into  sharp  relief  against  a  vapor- 
wall  of  slate.  At  the  mountain's  foot  a  whole 
hillside  shows  in  warm  brown  tint,  its  right  edge 
96 


merged  in  a  low  flat  cloud  of  silver,  born,  you 
could  aver,  on  the  instant,  from  which  the  trun- 
cated base  of  a  second  mountain  depends,  blue  as 
indigo. ,  The  face  of  earth,  washed  newly,  is  a 
patchwork  of  somber  and  gaudy  transparent  colors 
—  yellows,  greens,  sepias,  grays.  One's  range  and 
clearness  of  vision  are  quickly  expanded,  as  when  a 
telescope  is  fitted  to  the  eye.  Now  begins  a  won- 
derful shifting  of  light  and  sfifSdow,  peeps  through 
a  curtain  that  veils  unbearable  splendors  of  upper 
sky ;  gradual  dissolutions  of  cloud  into  curls  and 
twists  and  splashes,  with  filling  of  blue  between. 
Again  the  sun  appears,  at  first  with  a  pale  bur- 
nished light,  flashing  and  fading  irresolutely  until 
at  length  it  flames  out  with  summer  ardor.  The 
clouds  break  into  still  more  curious  forms,  into  pic- 
tures and  images  of  quaint  device,  and  outside  a 
wide  circle  of  brilliant  sunlight  all  the  hills  are  in 
purple  shadow,  fading  into  steel-blue,  and  about 
their  crests  cling  wisps  of  many-colored  fleece. 
Here  and  there  a  distant  peak  is  blackly  hooded, 
or  gleams  subtly  behind  an  intervening  shower  —  a 


Tehachapi  Loop. 


thin  transparent  wash  of  smoky  hue.  The  veil 
quickly  dissipates,  and  at  the  same  instant  the  peak 
is  robbed  of  its  sunlight  by  billows  of  vapor  that 
marshal  in  appalling  magnificence.  Then  the  rain- 
mist  advances  and  hides  the  whole  from  view.  A 
strip  of  green  next  flashes  on  the  sight,  a  distant 
field  lighted  by  the  sun,  but  lying  unaccountably 
beneath  a  cloud  of  black.  Beyond,  the  broad  foot 
of  a  rainbow  winks  and  disappears.  Among  all  the 
hilltops  rain  next  begins  to  fall  like  amber  smoke, 
so  thin  is  the  veil  that  shields  them  from  the  sun. 

Then  the  sun  abruptly  ceases  to  shine,  the  whole 
heavens  are  overcast,  and  between  the  fine  fast-fall- 
ing drops  the  ground  gleams  wet  in  cool  gray  light. 
By  noon  the  sun  again  is  shining  clear,  although 
in  occasional  canyons  there  is  night  and  deluge, 
and  at  the  close  of  a  bright  afternoon  the  farthest, 
loftiest  peak  has  a  white  cloud  wreath  around  it, 
as  symmetrical  as  a  smoke-ring  breathed  from  the 
lips  of  a  senorita ;  and  out  of  the  middle  of  it  rises 
the  fragment  of  a  rainbow  —  a  cockade  on  a  mist- 
laureled  Matterhorn.  Then  the  sun  drops,  and 
the  day  is  done. 

That  is  the  way  it  rains  in  California,  and  between 
such  days  are  unclouded  intervals  of  considerable 
duration.  They  call  this  season  winter.  The 
temperature  is  so  finely  balanced  one  does  not 
easily  decide  whether  to  walk  upon  the  sunny  or 
the  shady  side  of  the  street.  It  is  cool,  not  cold  — 
not  bracing  in  the  ordinary  sense,  but  just  the 
proper  temperature  for  continuous  out-of-door  life. 

99 


June  does  not  define  it,  nor  September.  It  has  no 
synonym.  But  if  you  cared  to  add  one  more  to  the 
many  unsuccessful  attempts  to  define  it  in  a  phrase, 
you  might  term  it  constant  delicious  weather ;  to- 
day, to-morrow,  and  indefinitely  in  the  future, 
morally  certain  to  be  very  much  as  you  would  have 
it  if  you  were  to  create  an  air  and  a  sky  exactly  to 
suit  his  or  her  majesty  yourself.  But  even  here 
man  is  a  clothes-wearing  animal.  There  is  a  cool- 
ness pervading  the  most  brilliant  sunshine.  Remem- 
bering this,  the  most  apprehensive  person  will  soon 
discover  that  there  is  no  menace  in  the  dry,  pure, 
and  gently  invigorating  air  of  the  Southern  Califor- 
nia winter.  It  wins  the  invalid  to  health  by 
enticing  him  to  remain  out  of  doors. 

Ranging  from  warm  sea-level  to  peaks  of  frigid 
inclemency,  this  varied  state  offers  many  climatic 
gradations,  whose  contrasts  are  nearly  always  in 
view.  In  winter  you  may  sit  upon  almost  any 
veranda  in  Southern  California  and  lift  your  eyes 
from  the  brilliant  green  of  ornamental  trees  and 
shrubs,  from  orchards  where  fruits  ripen  in  heavy 
clusters,  and  from  the  variegated  bloom  of  gar- 
dens, to  ragged  horizon-lines  buried  deep  in  snow. 
There  above  is  a  frozen  waste  and  Alpine  terror. 
Here  below  is  summer,  shorn  of  summer  languor. 
And  between  may  be  found  any  modification  that 
could  reasonably  be  sought,  each  steadfast  in  its 
own  characteristics. 

The  smallest  of  these  communities  is  great  in 
content.  Literally  couched  beneath  his  own  vine 


and  fig-tree,  plucking  from  friendly  boughs  delicious 
fruits,  finding  in  the  multifarious  products  of  the 
soil  nearly  everything  needful  in  domestic  economy, 
and  free  from  most  of  the  ills  that  flesh  was  thought 
to  be  heir  to,  what  wonder  that  the  Californian 
envies  no  man,  nor  ever  looks  wistfully  over  the 
Sierra's  crest  toward  the  crowded  cities  and  preca- 
rious farming  regions  of  the  East  ?  An  uplifting 
environment  for  a  home,  truly,  fit  to  breed  a  race 
worthy  of  the  noblest  empire  among  the  States. 
There  is  work  to  be  done,  in  the  house  and  the 
field,  but  in  such  an  air  and  scene  it  is  as  near  a 
transfiguration  of  labor  as  can  well  be  imagined. 
Here  it  is  indeed  a  poor  boy  or  girl  who  has  not  a 
pony  on  which  to  scamper  about,  or  lacks  liberty 
for  such  enjoyment.  And  every  year  there  comes 
a  period  of  holiday,  an  interval  when  there  is  no 
planting  or  harvesting  to  be  done,  no  picking  or 
drying  or  packing  of  fruit,  a  recuperating  spell  of 
nature,  when  the  weather  is  just  as  glorious  as  ever, 
and  the  mountains  and  ocean  beckon  seductively  to 
the  poet  that  is  in  the  heart  of  every  unharassed 
man  and  woman  and  child.  Then  for  weeks  the 
canyons  are  dotted  with  tents,  where  the  mountain- 
torrents  foam  and  spreading  sycamores  are  festooned 
with  mistletoe  ;  and  the  trout  of  the  stream  and  the 
game  of  the  forest  have  their  solstice  of  woe.  Or, 


on  the  rim  of  the  sea,  thousands  of  merry  hearts, 
both  young  and  old,  congregate  and  hold  high  car- 
nival. 

When  the  campers  return  to  shop  and  field 
it  is  not  by  reason  of  any  inclemency  of  weather, 
but  because  their  term  of  holiday  has  expired. 
Then  come  the  tourists,  and  pale  fugitives  from 
the  buffets  of  Boreas,  to  wander  happily  over  hill- 
side and  shore  in  a  land  unvexed  by  the  tyranny  of 
the  seasons. 

The  most  seductive  of  lands,  and  the  most  tena- 
cious in  its  hold  upon  you.  You  have  done  but 
little,  and  a  day  has  fled ;  have  idled,  walked,  rid- 
den, sailed  a  little,  have  seen  two  or  three  of  the 
thousand  things  to  be  seen,  and  a  week,  a  month, 
is  gone.  You  could  grieve  that  such  golden  bur- 
denless  hours  should  ever  go  into  the  past,  did  they 
not  flow  from  an  inexhaustible  fount.  For  to  be 
out  all  day  in  the  careless  freedom  of  perfect 
weather ;  to  ramble  over  ruins  of  a  former  occupa- 


tion;  to  wander  through  gardens  and  orchards;  to 
fish,  to  shoot,  to  gather  flowers  from  the  blossom- 
ing hill-slopes;  to  explore  a  hundred  fascinating 
retreats  of  mountain  and  shore;  to  lounge  on  the 
sands  by  the  surf  until  the  sun  drops  into  the  sea; 
all  this  is  permitted  by  the  Southern  California 
winter. 

SAN  DIEGO  AND  VICINITY. 

Fringing  a  bay  that  for  a  dozen  miles  glows  like 
a  golden  mirror  below  its  purple  rim,  San  Diego 
stands  upon  a  slope  that  rises  from  the  water  to 
the  summit  of  a  broad  mesa.  In  front  the  bold 
promontory  of  Point  Loma  juts  into  the  sea,  over- 
lapping the  low,  slender  peninsular  of  Coronado, 
and  between  them  lies  the  narrow  entrance  to  this 
most  beautiful  of  harbors.  One  may  be  happy  in 
San  Diego  and  do  nothing.  Its  soft,  sensuous 
beauty  and  caressing  air  create  in  the  breast  a  new 
sense  of  the  joy  of  mere  existence.  But  there  is, 
besides,  abundant  material  for  the  sight-seer.  Here, 
with  many,  begins  the  first  acquaintance  with  the 
growing  orange  and  lemon.  Orchards  are  on  every 
hand.  Paradise  Valley,  the  Valley  of  the  Sweet- 
water,  where  may  be  seen  the  great  irrigating  fount 
of  so  many  farms,  and  Mission  Valley,  where  the 


Depot  at  La  Mir  ad  a. 


San  Diego  River  flows  and  the  dismantled  ruin  of 
the  oldest  California  mission,  elbowed  by  a  modern 
Indian  school,  watches  over  its  ancient  but  still  vig- 
orous trees,  afford  the  most  impressive  examples  of 
these  growing  fruits  in  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood. El  Cajon  Valley  is  celebrated  for  its  vine- 
yards. At  National  City,  four  miles  away,  are 
extensive  olive  orchards.  Fifteen  miles  to  the  south 
the  Mexican  village  of  Tia  Juana  attracts  many 
visitors,  whose  average  experience  consists  of  a 
pleasant  railroad  ride  to  the  border  and  a  half- 
hour's  residence  in  a  foreign  country. 

The  hotels  at  San  Diego  adequately  care  for 
tourist  travel.  One  of  the  best  is  Hotel  Robinson, 
pleasantly  located  on  a  breezy  height  near  the 
city's  business  center,  where  there  is  a  wide  outlook 
across  the  blue  bay  and  to  the  still  bluer  distant 
mountains.  This  hotel  is  in  favor  with  those  who 
seek  a  quiet,  homelike  place.  It  has  two  hundred 
nicely  furnished  rooms,  a  roof  garden,  a  palm  court 
and  sun  parlor. 

On  the  crest  of  Point  Loma  a  group  of  build- 
ings stands  out  against  the  azure  sky.  This  is  the 
settlement  of  the  Universal  Brotherhood,  a  branch 
of  the  Theosophical  Society,  presided  over  by  Mrs. 
Catharine  Tingley.  It  combines  benevolent  work 
with  the  search  for  the  lost  mysteries  of  antiquity. 
The  improvements  are  as  yet  incomplete,  but  a 
large  amount  of  money  has  already  been  expended 
on  the  buildings  and  grounds. 


Hotel  Robinson,  San  Diego. 


The  diverse  allurements  of  mountain  and  valley, 
and  northward-stretching  shore  of  alternating  beach 
and  high  commanding  bluff,  are  innumerable. 
One  marvelous  bit  of  coast,  thirteen  miles  away, 
and  easily  reached  by  railway  or  carriage  drive,  is 
called  La  Jolla  Park.  Here  a  plateau  overlooks 
the  open  sea  from  a  bluff  that  tumbles  precipitously 
to  a  narrow  strip  of  sand. 

The  face  of  the  cliff  for  a  distance  of  several  miles 
has  been  sculptured  by  the  waves  into  most  curious 
forms.  It  projects  in  rectangular  blocks,  in  stumps, 
stools,  benches,  and  bas-reliefs  that  strikingly 
resemble  natural  objects,  their  surfaces  chiseled 
intaglio  with  almost  intelligible  devices.  Loosened 
fragments  have  worn  deep  symmetrical  wells,  or 
pot-holes,  to  which  the  somewhat  inadequate 
Spanish-Indian  name  of  the  place  is  due ;  and  what 
seem  at  first  glance  to  be  enormous  bowlders 
loosely  piled,  with  spacious  interstices  through 
which  the  foam  spurts  and  crashes,  are  the  self- 
same solid  cliff,  carved  and  polished,  but  not  wholly 
separated  by  the  sea.  Some  of  the  cavities  are 
mere  pockets  lined  with  mussels  and  minute  weeds 
with  calcareous  leaves.  Others  are  commodious 
secluded  apartments,  quite  commonly  used  as  dress- 
ing-rooms by  bathers.  The  real  caverns  can  be 
entered  dryshod  only  at  lowest  tide.  The  cliff 
where  they  lie  is  gnawed  into  columns,  arches  and 


aisles,  through  which  one  cave  after  another  may 
be  seen,  dimly  lighted,  dry  and  practicable.  Sev- 
enty-five feet  is  probably  their  utmost  depth.  They 
are  the  culmination  of  this  extraordinary  work  of 
an  insensate  sculptor.  There  are  alcove-niches, 
friezes  of  small  gray  and  black  mosaic,  horizontal 
bands  of  red,  and  high-vaulted  roofs.  If  the  native 
California  Indians  had  possessed  a  poetic  tempera- 
ment they  must  certainly  have  performed  religious 
rites  in  such  a  temple.  The  water  is  as  pellucid  as 
a  mountain  spring.  The  flush  of  the  waves  foams 
dazzling  white  and  pours  through  the  intricacies  of 
countless  channels  and  fissures  in  overwhelming 
torrents,  and  in  the  brief  intervals  between  ebb 
and  rise  the  bottom  of  rock  and  clean  sand  gleams 
invitingly  through  a  depth  of  many  feet. 

Sea-anemones  are  thickly  clustered  upon  the 
lower  levels,  their  tinted  petal-filaments  scintillating 
in  the  shallow  element,  or  closed  budlike  while 
waiting  for  the  flood.  Little  crabs  scamper  in  dis- 
orderly procession  through  the  crevices  at  your 
approach,  and  the  ornamental  abalone  is  also 
abundant.  Seaweeds,  trailing  in  and  out  with  the 
movement  of  the  tide,  flame  through  the  trans- 
parent water  in  twenty  shades  of  green,  and  schools 
of  goldfish  flash  in  the  swirling  current,  distorted  by 
the  varying  density  of  the  eddies  into  great  blotches 


$ 


Coronado  Tent  City. 


of  brilliant  color,  unquenchable  firebrands  darting 
hither  and  yon  in  their  play.  They  are  not  the 
true  goldfish  whose  habitat  is  a  globular  glass  half- 
filled  with  tepid  water,  but  their  hue  is  every  whit 
as  vivid.  In  the  time  of  flowers  this  whole  plateau 
is  covered  with  odorous  bloom. 

Then  there  is  Coronado.  Connected  by  ferry 
with  the  mainland,  Coronado  bears  the  same  rela- 
tion to  San  Diego  that  fashionable  suburbs  bear  to 
many  Eastern  cities,  and  at  the  same  time  affords 
recreative  pleasures  which  the  inhabitants  of  those 
suburbs  must  go  far  to  seek.  Here  the  business- 
man dwells  in  Elysian  bowers  by  the  sea,  screened 
from  every  reminder  of  business  cares,  yet  barely  a 
mile  distant  from  office  or  shop.  Locking  up  in 
his  desk  at  evening  all  the  prosaic  details  of  bank 
or  factory,  of  railroad  rates,  of  the  price  of  stocks 
and  real  estate  and  wares,  in  ten  minutes  he  is  at 
home  on  what  is  in  effect  a  South  Sea  Island, 
where  brant  and  curlew  and  pelican  fly,  and  not 
all  the  myriad  dwellings  and  the  pomp  of  their 
one  architectural  splendor  can  disturb  the  air  of 


The  Japanese  Garden,  Coronado. 


perfect  restfulness  and  sweet  rusticity.  From  the 
low  ridge  of  the  narrow  peninsula  may  be  seen, 
upon  the  one  hand,  a  wide-sweeping  mountainous 
arc,  dipping  to  the  pretty  city  that  borders  the  bay. 
Upon  the  other,  the  unobstructed  ocean  rolls.  On 
the  ocean  side,  just  beyond  reach  of  the  waves, 
stands  the  hotel  whose  magnificence  has  given  it 
leading  rank  among  the  famous  hostelries  of  the 
world. 

It  is  built  around  a  quadrangular  court,  or 
patio  —  a  dense  garden  of  rare  shrubs  and  flowering 
plants  more  than  an  acre  in  extent.  Upon  this 
patio  many  sleeping  rooms  open  by  way  of  the  cir- 
cumjacent balcony,  besides  fronting  upon  ocean 
and  bay,  and  a  glass-covered  veranda,  extending 
nearly  the  entire  length  of  the  western  frontage, 
looks  over  the  sea  toward  the  peaks  of  the  distant 
Coronado  Islands.  On  the  north  lies  Point  Loma 
and  the  harbor  entrance,  on  the  east  San  Diego  Bay 
and  city,  and  on  the  south  Glorieta  Bay  and  the 
mountains  of  Mexico,  beyond  a  broad  half-circle  of 
lawn  dotted  with  semi-tropical  trees  and  bright 
beds  of  flowers,  and  bordered  by  hedges  of  cypress. 

Here  the  fisherman  has  choice  of  surf  or  billow, 
or  the  still  surface  of  sheltered  waters ;  of  sailboat, 
skiff  or  iron  pier.  The  gunner  finds  no  lack  of 
sea-fowl,  quail  or  rabbits.  The  bather  may  choose 
between  surf  and  huge  tanks  of  salt  water, 
roofed  with  glass,  fringed  with  flowers  and  fitted 
with  devices  to  enhance  his  sport.  The  sight- 
seer is  provided  with  a  score  of  special  local  attrac- 


tions,  and  all  the  resources 
of  the  mainland  are  at  elbow. 
These  diversions  are  the 
advantage  of  geographical 
location,  independent  of  the  social  recreations  one 
naturally  finds  in  fashionable  resorts,  at  hotels 
liberally  managed  and  frequented  by  representatives 
of  the  leisure  class. 

A  recent  addition  to  the  manifold  attractions  of 
Coronado  is  the  summer  tent  city  on  the  beach, 
where  neatly  furnished  cloth  houses  may  be  rented 
by  those  who  desire  to  get  into  closer  touch  with 
nature  than  they  would  in  a  modern  hotel.  Res- 
taurants, stores  and  other  facilities  are  provided  for 
the  comfort  of  those  who  camp  here,  and  in  sea- 
son music  and  special  entertainment  are  added  to 
the  natural  attractions. 

The  climate  of  the  coast  is  necessarily  distin- 
guished from  that  of  the  interior  by  greater  humid- 
ity, and  the  percentage  of  invisible  moisture  in 
the  air,  however  small,  must  infallibly  be  greater 
at  Coronado  than  upon  the  heights  of  San  Diego, 
and  greater  in  San  Diego  than  at  points  farther 
removed  from  the  sea.  This  is  the  clew  to  the 
only  flaw  in  the  otherwise  perfect  coast  climate, 
and  it  is  a  flaw  only  to  super-sensitive  persons, 
invalids  of  a  certain  class.  The  consumptive  too 
often  delays  taking  advantage  of  the  benefits  of 
climatic  change  until  he  has  reached  a  point 
when  nicest  discrimination  has  become  necessary. 
The  purest,  driest  and  most  rarefied  air  compatible 


with  the  complications  of  disease  is  his  remedy, 
if  remedy  exist  for  him.  And  the  driest  and  most 
rarefied  air  is  not  to  be  looked  for  by  the  sea. 
Yet  the  difference  is  not  great  enough  to  be 
brusquely  prohibitory. 

No  one  need  fear  to  go  to  the  coast,  and  usually 
a  short  stay  will  determine  whether  or  no  the 
relief  that  is  sought  can  there  be  found  ;  while  for 
many  derangements  it  is  preferable  to  the  interior. 
For  him  who  is  not  in  precarious  condition  the 
foregoing  observations  have  no  significance.  He  will 
find  the  climate  of  all  Southern  California  a  mere 
gradation  of  glory.  But  perhaps  around  San  Diego, 
and  at  one  or  two  other  coast  points,  there  will 
seem  to  be  a  spirit  even  gentler  than  that  which 
rules  the  hills. 


The  Arches,  Capistrano. 


San  Antonio  de  Padua. 


CAPISTRANO. 

A  tiny  quaint  village  in  a  fertile  valley  that 
slopes  from  a  mountain  wall  to  the  sea,  unkempt 
and  mongrel,  a  jumble  of  adobe  ruins,  white- 
washed hovels  and  low  semi-modern  structures, 
straggling  like  a  moraine  from  the  massive  ruin  of 
the  Mission  San  Juan  Capistrano.  The  mission 
dominates  the  valley.  Go  where  you  will,  the  eye 
turns  to  this  colossal  fragment,  a  forlorn  but  vital 
thing;  broken,  crushed,  and  yet  undying.  Swarthy 
faces  are  mingled  with  the  pale  Saxon  type,  the 
music  of  the  Spanish  tongue  is  heard  wherever  you 
hear  human  speech,  and  from  behind  the  lattices 
of  the  adobes  come  the  tinkle  of  guitars  and  the 
cadence  of  soft  voices  in  plaintive  rhythm.  The 
sun  makes  black  shadows  by  every  house  and  tree, 
and  sweeps  in  broad  unbroken  light  over  the  undu- 
lating hills  to  hazy  mountain-tops  ;  ground  squirrel? 
114 


scamper  across  the  way,  wild  doves  start  up  with 
whistling  wings,  and  there  is  song  of  birds  and  cry 
of  barnyard  fowls.  The  essence  of  the  scene  is 
passing  quiet  and  peace.  The  petty  noises  of  the 
village  are  powerless  to  break  the  silence  that 
enwraps  the  noble  ruin  ;  its  dignity  is  as  imperturb- 
able as  that  of  mountain  and  sea.  Never  was 
style  of  architecture  more  spontaneously  in  touch 
with  its  environment  than  that  followed  by  the 
mission  builders.  It  is  rhythm  and  cadence  and 
rhyme.  It  is  perfect  art.  Earthquake  has  rent, 
man  has  despoiled,  time  has  renounced  the  Mission 
San  Juan  Capistrano,  yet  its  pure  nobility  survives, 
indestructible.  The  tower  has  fallen,  the  sanc- 
tuary is  bare  and  weatherbeaten,  the  cloisters  of 
the  quadrangle  are  roofless,  and  the  bones  of  for- 
gotten padres  lie  beneath  the  roots  of  tangled 
shrubbery ;  but  the  bells  still  hang  in  their  rawhide 
lashings,  and  the  cross  rises  white  against  the  sky. 
A  contemptuous  century  has  rolled  past,  and  the 
whole  ambitious  and  once  promising  dream  of 
monkish  rule  has  long  since  ended,  but  this  slow 
crumbling  structure  will  not  have  it  so.  Like  some 
dethroned  and  superannuated  king,  whose  insistent 
claim  to  royal  function  cloaks  him  with  a  certain 
grandeur,  it  sits  in  silent  state  too  venerable  for 
disrespect  and  too  august  for  pity. 


STORY  OF  THE  MISSIONS. 

In  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  the  Span- 
ish throne,  desiring  to  encourage  colonization  of 
its  territory  of  Upper  California,  then  unpeopled 
save  by  native  Indian  tribes,  entered  into  an  arrange- 
ment with  the  Order  of  St. Francis  by  virtue  of  which 
that  order  undertook  to  establish  missions  in  the 
new  country  which  were  to  be  the  nuclei  of  future 
villages  and  cities,  to  which  Spanish  subjects  were 
encouraged  to  emigrate.  By  the  terms  of  that 
arrangement  the  Franciscans  were  to  possess  the 
mission  properties  and  their  revenues  for  ten  years, 
which  was  deemed  a  sufficient  period  in  which  to 
fairly  establish  the  colonies,  when  the  entire  prop- 
erty was  to  revert  to  the  Spanish  government.  In 
point  of  fact  the  Franciscans  were  left  in  undisputed 
possession  for  more  than  half  a  century. 

The  monk  chosen  to  take  charge  of  the  under- 
taking was  Junipero  Serra,  a  man  of  saintly  piety 
and  energetic  character,  who  in  childhood  desired 
only  that  he  might  be  a  priest,  and  in  maturity 
earnestly  wished  to  be  a  martyr.  Seven  years 
before  the  Declaration  of  the  Independence  of  the 
American  Colonies,  in  the  early  summer  of  1769, 
he  entered  the  bay  of  San  Diego,  227  years  after 
Cabrillo  had  discovered  it  for  Spain  and  167  years 
after  it  had  been  surveyed  and  named  by  Viscaino, 
during  all  which  preceding  time  the  country  had 
lain  fallow.  Within  two  months  Serra  had  founded 
a  mission  near  the  mouth  of  the  San  Diego  River, 


Mission  San  Luis  Rey. 

which  five  years  after  was  removed  some  six  miles  up 
the  valley  to  a  point  about  three  miles  distant  from 
the  present  city  of  San  Diego.  From  that  time  one 
mission  after  another  was  founded,  twenty-one  in 
all,  from  San  Diego  along  the  coast  as  far  north  as 
San  Francisco.  The  more  important  of  these  were 
built  of  stone  and  a  hard  burnt  brick  that  even  now 
will  turn  the  edge  of  the  finest  trowel.  The  labor 
of  their  construction  was  appalling.  Brick  had  to 
be  burnt,  stone  quarried  and  dressed,  and  huge 
timbers  for  rafters  brought  on  men's  shoulders  from 
the  mountain  forests,  sometimes  thirty  miles  dis- 
tant, through  rocky  canyons  and  over  trackless 
hills. 

The  Indians  performed  most  of  this  labor, 
under  the  direction  of  the  fathers.  These  Indians 
were  tractable,  as  a  rule.  Once,  or  twice  at  most, 
they  rose  against  their  masters,  but  the  policy  of  the 
padres  was  kindness  and  forgiveness,  although  it 
must  be  inferred  that  the  condition  of  the  Indians 
over  whom  they  claimed  spiritual  and  temporal 
118 


authority  was  a  form  of  slavery,  without  all  the 
cruelties  that  usually  pertain  to  enforced  servitude. 

They  were  the  bondsmen  of  the  padres,  whose 
aim  was  to  convert  them  to  Christianity  and  civiliza- 
tion, and  many  thousands  of  them  were  persuaded 
to  cluster  around  the  missions,  their  daughters 
becoming  neophytes  in  the  convents,  and  the  others 
contributing  their  labor  to  the  erection  of  the  enor- 
mous structures  that  occupied  many  acres  of  ground 
and  to  the  industries  of  agriculture,  cattle  raising, 
and  a  variety  of  manufactures.  There  were,  after 
the  primitive  fashion  of  the  time,  woolen  mills, 
wood-working  and  blacksmith  shops,  and  such 
other  manufactories  as  were  practicable  in  the  exist- 
ing state  of  the  arts,  which  could  be  made  profitable. 

The  mission  properties  soon  became  enormously 
valuable,  their  yearly  revenues  sometimes  amounting 
to  $2,OOO,OOO.  The  exportation  of  hides  was  one 
of  the  most  important  items,  and  merchant  vessels 
from  our  own  Atlantic  seaboard,  from  England  and 
from  Spain,  sailed  to  the  California  coast  for  cargoes 
of  that  commodity.  Dana's  romantic  and  univer- 
sally read  "  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast  "  is  the 
record  of  such  a  voyage.  He  visited  California 
more  than  a  half  a  century  ago,  and  found  its 
quaint  Spanish-Indian  life  full  of  the  picturesque 
and  romantic. 

The  padres  invariably  selected  a  site  favorable  for 
defense,  commanding  views  of  entrancing  scenery, 
on  the  slopes  of  the  most  fertile  valleys,  and  con- 
venient to  the  running  water  which  was  the  safe- 
119 


MISSION  GARDEN,  SANTA  BARBARA. 


guard  of  agriculture  in  a 
country  of  sparse  and  un- 
certain rainfall.  The  In- 
dians, less  warlike  in  nature  than  the  roving 
tribes  east  of  the  Rockies,  were  almost  uni- 
versally submissive.  If  there  was  ever  an 
Arcadia  it  was  surely  there  and  then. 
Against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  unspotted  by 
a  single  cloud  through  many  months  of  the  year, 
snow-crowned  mountains  rose  in  dazzling  relief, 
while  oranges,  olives,  figs,  dates,  bananas,  and  every 
other  variety  of  temperate  and  sub-tropical  fruit 
which  had  been  introduced  by  the  Spaniards, 
ripened  in  a  sun  whose  ardency  was  tempered  by 
the  dryness  of  the  air  into  an  equability  like  that  of 
June,  while  the  regularly  alternating  breeze  that 
daily  swept  to  and  from  ocean  and  mountain  made 
summer  and  winter  almost  indistinguishable  sea- 
sons, then  as  now,  save  for  the  welcome  rains  that 
characterize  the  latter. 

At  the  foot  of  the  valley,  between  the  mountain 
slopes,  and  never  more  than  a  few  miles  away,  the 
waters  of  the  Pacific  rocked  placidly  in  the  brilliant 
sunlight  or  broke  in  foam  upon  a  broad  beach  of 
sand.  In  such  a  scene  Spaniard  and  Indian  plied 
their  peaceful  vocations,  the  one  in  picturesque 
national  garb,  the  other  almost  innocent  of  cloth- 
ing, while  over  and  around  them  lay  an  atmosphere 
of  sacredness  which  even  to  this  day  clings  to  the 
broken  arches  and  crumbling  walls.  Over  the 
peaceful  valleys  a  veritable  angelus  rang.  The 


Santa  Barbara  Mission. 


mellow  bells  of  the  mission  churches  summoned 
dusky  hordes  to  ceremonial  devotion.  Want  and 
strife  were  unknown.  Prosperity  and  brotherly 
love  ruled  as  never  before. 

It  is  true  they  had  their  trials.  Earthquakes, 
which  have  been  almost  unknown  in  California  for 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  were  then  not  uncommon, 
and  were  at  times  disastrous.  Rio  de  los  Temblores 
was  the  name  of  a  stream  derived  from  the  fre- 
quency of  earth  rockings  in  the  region  through 
which  it  flowed ;  and  in  the  second  decade  of  our 
century  the  dreaded  temblor  upset  the  i2O-foot 
tower  of  the  Mission  San  Juan  Capistrano  and 
sent  it  crashing  down  through  the  roof  upon  a  con- 
gregation, of  whom  nearly  forty  perished.  Those, 
too,  were  lawless  times  upon  the  main.  Pirates, 
cruising  the  South  Seas  in  quest  of  booty,  hovered 
about  the  California  coast,  and  then  the  mission 
men  stood  to  their  arms,  while  the  women  and 
children  fled  to  the  interior  canyons  with  their 
portable  treasures.  One  buccaneer,  Bouchard, 
repulsed  in  his  attempt  upon  Dolores  and  Santa 
Barbara,  descended  successfully  upon  another  mis- 
sion and  dwelt  there  riotously  for  a  time,  carous- 
ing, and  destroying  such  valuables  as  he  could  not 
carry  away,  while  the  entire  population  quaked 
in  the  forest  along  the  Rio  Trabuco.  This  was 
the  same  luckless  San  Juan  Capistrano,  six  years 
after  the  earthquake  visitation.  Then,  too,  there 
were  bickerings  of  a  political  nature,  and  struggles 
for  place,  after  the  rule  of  Mexico  had  succeeded 


to  that  of  Spain,  but  the 
common  people  troubled 
themselves  little  with  such 
matters. 

The  end  of  the  Fran- 
ciscan dynasty  came  sud-  San  Gabriel  Mission. 
denly  with  the  secularization  of  the  mission 
property  by  the  Mexican  government  to  replete  the 
exhausted  treasuries  of  Santa  Ana.  Sadly  the 
fathers  forsook  the  scene  of  their  long  labors,  and 
silently  the  Indians  melted  away  into  the  wilderness 
and  the  darkness  of  their  natural  ways,  save  such 
as  had  intermarried  with  the  families  of  Spanish 
soldiers  and  colonists.  The  churches  are  now,  for 
the  most  part,  only  decayed  legacies  and  fragmen- 
tary reminders  of  a  time  whose  like  the  world  will 
never  know  again.  Save  only  three  or  four,  pre- 
served by  reverent  hands,  where  modern  worship- 
pers, denationalized  and  clad  in  American  dress, 
still  kneel  and  recite  their  orisons,  the  venerable 
ruins  are  forsaken  by  all  except  the  tourist  and 
the  antiquarian,  and  their  bells  are  silent  forever. 
One  can  not  but  feel  the  pity  of  it,  for  in  the 
history  of  zealous  servants  of  the  cross  there  is 
hardly  a  more  noteworthy  name  than  that  of  Juni- 
pero  Serra,  and  in  the  annals  of  their  heroic 
endeavor  there  is  no  more  signal  instance  of  abso- 
lute failure  than  his  who  founded  the  California 
missions,  aside  from  the  perpetuation  of  his  saintly 
name.  They  accomplished  nothing  so  far  as  can 
now  be  seen. 

123 


The  descendants  of  their  converts,  what  few  have 
survived  contact  with  the  Anglo-Saxon,  have  no 
discoverable  worth,  and,  together  with  the  greater 
part  of  the  original  Spanish  population,  have  faded 
away,  as  if  a  blight  had  fallen  upon  them. 

But  so  long  as  one  stone  remains  upon  another, 
and  a  single  arch  of  the  missions  still  stands,  an 
atmosphere  will  abide  there,  something  that  does 
not  come  from  mountain,  or  vale,  or  sea,  or  sky ; 
the  spirit  of  consecration,  it  may  be ;  but  if  it  is 
only  the  aroma  of  ancient  and  romantic  associations, 
the  suggestion  of  a  peculiar  phase  of  earnest  and 
simple  human  life  and  quaint  environment  that  is 
forever  past,  the  mission-ruins  must  remain  among 
the  most  interesting  monuments  in  all  our  varied 
land,  and  will  amply  repay  the  inconsiderable  effort 
and  outlay  required  to  enable  the  tourist  to  view 
them.  San  Diego,  the  oldest ;  San  Luis  Rey,  the 
most  poetically  environed  ;  San  Juan  Capistrano,  of 
most  tragic  memory;  San  Gabriel,  the  most  impos- 
ing, and  Santa  Barbara,  the  most  perfectly  pre- 
served, will  suffice  the  casual  sightseer.  These 
also  lie  comparatively  near  together,  and  are  all 
easily  accessible ;  the  first  three  being  located  on  or 
adjacent  to  the  railway  line  between  Los  Angeles 
and  San  Diego,  the  fourth  standing  but  a  few  miles 
from  the  first  named  city,  and  the  fifth  being  almost 
in  the  heart  of  the  famous  resort  that  bears  its 


Pa  la  Mission. 


Reluctantly  will  the  visitor  tear  himself  from  the 
encompassing  charm  of  their  roofless  arches  and 
reminiscent  shadows.  They  are  a  dream  of  the 
Old  World,  indifferent  to  the  sordidness  and  turbu- 
lence of  the  New;  one  of  the  few  things  that 
have  been  spared  by  a  relentless  past,  whose  habit 
is  to  sweep  the  things  of  yesterday  into  oblivion. 
Almost  can  one  hear  the  echoes  of  their  sweet 
bells  ringing  out  to  heathen  thousands  the  sunset 
and  the  dawn. 

LOS  ANGELES. 

One  can  hardly  cross  this  continent  of  ours  with- 
out gaining  a  new  idea  of  the  immense  historical 
significance  of  the  westward  yearning  of  the  Saxon, 
who  in  two  and  a  half  centuries  has  marched  from 
Plymouth  Rock  to  the  Sunset  Sea,  and  has  subor- 
dinated every  other  people  in  his  path  from  shore  to 
shore.  The  Spaniard  was  a  world-conqueror  in  his 
day,  and  master  of  California  before  the  stars  and 
stripes  had  been  devised.  The  story  of  his  subju- 
gation of  the  southwestern  portion  of  the  New 
World  is  the  most  brilliant  in  modern  history.  It 


Mission  San  Juan  Capittrtnt. 


is  a  story  of  unexampled  deeds  of  arms.  Sword 
and  cross,  and  love  of  fame  and  gold,  are  inextri- 
cably interwoven  with  it.  The  Saxon  epic  is  a 
more  complex  tale  of  obscure  heroism,  of  emigrant 
cavalcades,  of  pioneer  homes,  of  business  enter- 
prise. 

The  world  may  never  know  a  sublimer  indif- 
ference to  fatigue,  suffering  and  death  than 
characterized  the  Spanish  invaders  of  America  for 
more  than  two  centuries.  Whatever  the  personal 
considerations  that  allured  them,  the  extension  of 
Spanish  empire  and  the  advancement  of  the  cross 
amid  barbarians  was  their  effectual  purpose.  The 
conquistador  was  a  crusader,  and  with  all  his  cruelty 
and  rapacity  he  is  a  splendid  figure  of  incarnate 
force.  But  the  westward-flowing  wave  of  Saxon 
conquest  has  set  him,  too,  aside.  In  this  fair  land 
of  California,  won  at  smallest  cost,  and  seemingly 
created  for  him,  his  descendants  to-day  are  little 
more  than  a  tattered  fringe  upon  the  edges  of  the 
displacing  civilization.  He  has  left  his  mark  upon 
every  mountain  and  valley  in  names  that  will  long 
endure,  but  himself  has  been  supplanted.  He  has 
not  fled.  He  has  diminished,  faded  away. 

In  1781  he  named  the  city  Pueblo  de  la  Reina  de 
los  Angele s  (Town  of  the  Queen  of  the  Angels.) 
The  Saxon,  the  man  of  business  now  supreme,  has 
retained  only  the  last  two  words  of  that  high- 
sounding  appellation;  and  hardly  a  greater 
proportion  remains  of  the  original  atmos- 
phere of  this  old  Spanish  town.  You 


.The  Angelas . 


will  find  a  Spanish  (Mexican)  quarter,  unkempt 
and  adobe,  containing  elements  of  the  picturesque ; 
and  in  the  modern  portion  of  the  city  a  restaurant 
or  two  where  English  is  spoken  in  a  halting  fashion 
by  very  pretty  dark-skinned  girls,  and  you  may  sat- 
isfy, if  not  your  appetite,  perhaps  a  long-standing 
curiosity  regarding  tortillas,  and  frijoles,  and  chili 
con  came.  As  for  tamales,  they  are,  as  with  us,  a 
matter  of  curbstone  speculation. 

Senores,  senoras,  and  senoritas  are  plentifully 
encountered  upon  the  streets,  but  are  not  in  general 
distinguished  by  any  peculiarity  of  attire.  Upon 
the  borders  of  the  city  one  finds  more  vivid  types, 
and  there  the  jacal,  a  poor  mud  hovel  thatched  with 
straw,  is  not  quite  extinct.  The  words  Spanish  and 
Mexican  are  commonly  used  in  California  to  dis- 
tinguish a  racial  difference.  Not  a  few  of  the 
Spanish  soldiery  and  colonists  originally  took  wives 
from  among  the  native  Indians.  Their  offspring 
has  had  its  charms  for  later  comers  of  still  other 
races,  and  a  complexity  of  mixture  has  resulted. 

The  term  Mexican  is  generally  understood  to 
apply  to  this  amalgamation,  those  of  pure  Castilian 
descent  preferring  to  be  known  as  Spanish.  The. 
latter,  numerically  a  small  class,  represent  high 
types,  and  the  persistency  of  the  old  strain  is  such 
that  the  poorest  Mexican  is  to  a  certain  manner 
born.  He  wears  a  contented  mien,  as  if  his 
Diogenes-tub  and  his  imperceptible  larder  were  regal 
possessions,  and  he  does  not  easily  part  with  dignity 
and  self-respect. 


The  existence  of  these  descendants  of  the  con- 
querors side  by  side  with  the  exponents  of  the  new 
regime  is  one  of  the  charms  of  Los  Angeles.  It  has 
others  in  historic  vein.  After  its  first  overland  con- 
nection with  the  East,  by  way  of  the  Santa  Fe 
Trail,  it  rapidly  took  on  the  character  of  a  wild 
border  town ;  the  influx  of  adventurers  and  the 
stimulation  of  an  unwonted  commerce  transforming 
the  Spanish  idyl  into  a  motley  scene  of  remunerative 
trade,  abandoned  carousal,  and  desperate  personal 
conflict.  Its  romantic  career  of  progress  and  ame- 
lioration to  its  present  enviable  estate  is  marked  by 
monuments  that  still  endure.  Fremont,  the  Path- 
finder, here  first  raised  the  Stars  and  Stripes  in 
1846,  and  Winfield  Scott  Hancock,  as  a  young 
captain,  had  quarters  in  this  historic  town. 

In  modern  interest  it  stands  for  a  type  of  the 
material  development  that  belongs  to  our  day.  In 
1860  it  numbered  4,500  inhabitants;  in  1880, 
11,000;  in  1890,  50,000;  in  1900,  more  than 
IOO,OOO,  or,  to  be  exact,  102,479.  To-day  the  popu- 
lation is  estimated  at  175,000.  Surrounded  by  hun- 
dreds of  cultivated  farms,  whose  varied  products  form 
the  basis  of  its  phenomenal  prosperity,  it  is  a  really 
great  city.  It  is  well  paved,  well  lighted,  and 
abundantly  served  by  intramural  railways.  It  has 
parks  of  extraordinary  beauty,  and  avenues  shaded 
by  the  eucalyptus  and  the  pepper,  that  most  esthetic 


of  trees.  Outside  the  immediate 
thoroughfares  of  trade  the  streets  are 
bordered  by  attractive  homes,  fronted 
by  grounds  set  with  palm  and  orange 
and  cypress,  and  blooming  with 
flowers  throughout  the  year.  It  is 
backed  by  the  mountains  that  are 
always  present  in  a  California  land- 
scape,and  fifteen  miles  away  lies  a  vista 
Hotel  Van  Nuys.  of  tne  sea,  dotted  with  island  peaks. 

Los  Angeles  is  an  up-to-date  American  city 
in  every  respect.  To  find  evidences  of  the  old 
Spanish  life  we  must  hunt  it  out  in  obscure  cor- 
ners. Los  Angeles  is  the  least  Californian  of  all 
the  important  cities  of  the  State.  Of  53,513 
voters  on  the  great  register  of  Los  Angeles  county, 
a  few  years  ago,  less  than  ten  per  cent  were  natives 
of  California.  The  rest  came  from  every  State  and 
Territory  in  the  nation,  and  from  almost  every 
country  in  the  civilized  world.  The  States  of 
Illinois  and  New  York  and  Ohio  each  furnished 
almost  as  many  voters  as  the  home  State.  Ix>s 
Angeles  is  a  brilliant  example  of  what  sturdy  Amer- 
ican brawn  and  keen  American  intellect  can  do  in 
a  climate  which  sometimes  has  been  referred  to  as 
enervating,  although  it  is  really  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Geographically,  Los  Angeles  covers  a  large  area, 
embracing  27,000  acres  within  the  city  limits. 
This  makes  less  than  seven  persons  to  the  acre,  or 
perhaps  actually  about  twice  that  number,  after 
allowing  for  the  parks,  roads  and  vacant  territory. 
130 


It  is,  consequently,  not  surprising  to  find  that  the 
average  family  in  Los  Angeles  has  plenty  of  elbow 
room.  The  ordinary  size  of  a  residence  lot  is  50  by 
150  feet,  and  many  are  considerably  larger.  It  is 
only  during  the  past  few  years  that  apartments 
have  been  introduced,  and  probably  ninety-five  per 
cent  of  the  permanent  residents  live  in  separate 
homes.  Wood  is  the  almost  universal  material  for 
building,  pine  being  used  for  the  exterior,  and  red- 
wood and  pine  for  interior  finish.  Owing  to  mild 
climate,  the  expense  of  building  is  considerably  less 
than  in  the  East.  There  is  a  great  and  pleasing 
variety  in  the  architecture  of  Los  Angeles  residences. 
Of  late  the  Mission  style,  with  some  modifications, 
has  come  into  favor. 

Any  one  who  has  not  visited  Los  Angeles 
for  fifteen  years  would  scarcely  recognize  it 
to-day.  In  1886  there  was  not  a  paved  street, 
few  graded  streets  and  scarcely  any  business  blocks 
of  importance.  Horses  and  vehicles  would  some- 
times be  mired  in  black,  sticky  mud,  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  city.  To-day  there  are  more  than 
twenty  miles  of  paved  streets,  and  upward  of  300 
miles  of  public  thoroughfares  are  graded  and  grav- 
eled. 

The  city  is  brilliantly  lighted  by  electricity,  most 
of  the  lights  being  on  tall  towers.  It  was  the 
first  in  the  United  States  to  entirely  aban- 
don gas  for  street  lighting.  Seen  from  one  of 
the  surrounding  hills,  it  is  a  striking  sight,  as 
the  lights  are  turned  on  in  the  evening, 
131 


twinkling  like  stars  against  the  dark  firmament. 
There  is  a  great  variety  of  sites  for  building 
within  the  city  limits.  In  the  northern  and 
northwestern  and  western  districts  are  hills,  from 
many  of  which  a  view  of  the  ocean,  distant  about 
fifteen  miles,  is  obtained,  with  the  Sierra  Madrc 
range  of  mountains,  snow-capped  in  winter, 
bounding  the  view  on  the  north.  These  hills 
(  have  come  into  favor  during  the  past  few 
years  as  residence  sites.  That  part  of  the 
city  in  the  west  end,  around  Westlake  Park, 
contains  hundreds  of  beautiful  homes  that  have 
been  erected  during  the  past  five  years. 

The  excellent  electric  street-car  system  of  Los 
Angeles,  which  is  said  to  excel  that  of  any  other 
American  city  of  equal  size,  has  contributed  much 
toward  the  growth  of  the  outlying  sections.  In 
addition  to  the  lines  within  the  city  limits, 
there  is  an  electric  system  connecting  the  city 
with  Pasadena,  and  others  connecting  with  Santa 
Monica,  San  Pedro,  Redondo,  Long  Beach  and 
Ocean  Park.  Plans  made  contemplate  the  ulti- 
mate construction  of  over  450  miles  of  suburban 
electric  roads,  radiating  from  Los  Angeles  in  all 
directions. 

There  are  altogether  about  a  dozen  parks  within 
the  city  limits  of  Los  Angeles,  of  which  five  are 
tracts  of  considerable  size.  In  these  parks  may  be 
seen  many  beautiful  examples  of  the  semi-tropic 
vegetation  which  flourishes  here.  In  four  of  them 
are  lakes,  with  boats,  and  music  is  usually  provided 
132 


on  Sundays.  In  Eastlake  Park,  on  the  east  side 
of  the  river,  the  nurseries  are  worthy  of  inspec- 
tion. 

Elysian  Park,  a  romantic,  hilly  tract  of  over  500 
acres  in  the  northern  part  of  the  city,  is  a  rem- 
nant of  the  thousands  of  acres  of  land  formerly 
owned  by  the  municipality,  and  either  given  away  or 
sold  at  ridiculous  prices.  At  one  time,  in  the  early 
days,  the  pueblo  owned  nearly  all  the  land  within 
the  city  limits.  Had  the  city  leased  this  land, 
instead  of  disposing  of  it  at  a  nominal  figure,  it 
would  now  be  one  of  the  wealthiest  municipali- 
ties in  the  country.  Little  has  been  done  at 
Elysian  Park,  beyond  improving  the  portion  near  the 
entrance  and  the  construction  of  a  few  roads  from 
which  enchanting  views  of  the  city  and  surrounding 
country  may  be  had.  Just  outside  of  Los  Angeles, 
on  the  north,  is  Griffith  Park,  a  tract  of  3,000  acres 
of  mountainous  land,  presented  to  the  city  a  few 
years  ago  by  a  public-spirited  citizen.  Nothing  has 
yet  been  done  toward  the  improvement  of  this  great 
tract,  except  a  start  at  reforestation  under  the 
direction  of  a  United  States  Government  forestry 
expert. 

Socially,  Los  Angeles  is  a  refined  and  cultivated 
community.  There  is  nothing  here  that  might  be 


termed  "wild  and  woolly."  This  is  not  surprising, 
when  we  consider  that  Los  Angeles  has  been 
chiefly  settled  by  people  of  culture  from  east  of  the 
mountains.  The  school  facilities  are  excellent, 
including  a  great  variety  of  private  institutions,  in 
addition  to  the  public  schools.  Most  of  the  lead- 
ing religious  denominations  are  liberally  repre- 
sented. An  army  of  specialists  give  instruction  in 
music,  painting  and  every  department  of  art  and 
science.  Lectures  and  entertainments  by  home 
and  foreign  talent  are  almost  daily  occurrences. 
Many  brilliant  writers  and  artists  have  made  their 
permanent  homes  here,  or  in  the  surrounding 
suburbs.  There  is  not  a  fraternal  society  of 
importance  that  is  not  represented.  In  short,  Los 
Angeles  offers  all  the  "modern  improvements"  of 
American  twentieth  century  civilization,  with  the 
glorious  climate  "  in  the  bargain. 
Many  new-comers  inquire  as  to  the  reason  for 
the  marvelous  growth  of  Los  Angeles  during  the 
past  decade,  and  doubting  Thomases  are  always 
ready  to  hint  that  it  can  not  possibly  last.  So  far, 
there  is  certainly  no  indication  of  any  halt  in  the 
forward  march  of  the  City  of  the  Angels.  Never 
have  building  operations  gone  forward  on  a  scale 
of  such  magnitude,  and  the  army  of  Eastern  visit- 
ors is  so  great  that  the  hotels  and  lodging  houses  are 
taxed  to  accommodate  them.  It  has  sometimes 
been  asserted  by  envious  communities  that  Los 
Angeles  lives  on  "  oranges  and  tenderfeet."  That 
this  statement  is  unfounded  is  shown  by  the  fact 


that  the  value  of  the  leading  products  of  Southern 
California  this  year  is  estimated  at  over  $35,000,- 
OOO,  a  large  amount  of  money  to  be  divided  among 
a  population  of  less  than  400,000.  And  that  does 
not  include  the  money  spent  here  by  health  and 
pleasure  seekers. 

Many  valid  reasons  might  easily  be  cited  for 
the  remarkable  growth  of  Los  Angeles.  The  lead- 
ing cause  of  that  growth  may  probably  be  found  in 
the  fact  that  many  Eastern  people  of  wealth,  who 
have  visited  Los  Angeles  with  their  families,  have 
been  so  charmed  with  the  climate  and  surround- 
ings that  they  have  become  permanent  residents, 
and  then,  after  a  short  interval  of  idleness,  have 
invested  their  money  in  various  productive  enter- 
prises, such  as  mining,  horticulture,  the  develop- 
ment of  petroleum,  or  manufacturing.  A  large 
proportion  of  the  millions  invested  in  Los  Angeles 
and  Southern  California  during  the  past  ten  years 
has  come  in  this  way,  and  most  of  the  investors 
appear  to  be  satisfied  with  their  experience,  apart 
from  the  improved  condition  of  their  health. 

PASADENA. 

Just  outside  the  limits  of  Los  Angeles,  intimately 
connected  by  railway  and  street  car  lines,  is  Pasa- 
dena, a  thriving  modern  city  of  20,000  inhabitants. 
For  the  origin  of  the  name  you  may  choose  between 
the  imputed  Indian  signification,  Crown  of  the 
Valley,  and  a  corruption  of  the  Spanish  Paso  de 
Eden  (Threshold  of  Eden).  It  is  in  any  event  the 

\\ 


crown  of  that  Eden,  the  San  Gabriel  Valley, 
which  nestles  warmly  in  its  groves  and  rose- 
bowers  below  lofty  bulwarks  tipped  with 
snow.  -  Here  an  Eastern  multitude  makes 
regular  winter  home  in  modest  cottage  or 
imposing  mansion.  Every  fruit  and  flower 
and  every  ornamental  tree  and  shrub  known 
to  Southern  California  is  represented  in  the 
elaborate  grounds  of  this  little  realm.  It  is  a 
playground  of  wealth,  a  Nob  Hill  of  Paradise, 
a  blessed  home  of  happy  men  and  women  and 
children  who  prefer  this  to  vaunted  foreign 
lands. 

Orange  Grove  avenue  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
residence  thoroughfares  in  the  United  States,  or  in 
any  other  country,  for  that  matter.  Pasadena 
entertains  a  large  crowd  of  Eastern  visitors  within 
her  gates  during  the  winter  months.  She  is  well 
prepared  to  receive  them,  hotels  and  lodging  houses 
being  numerous.  The  magnificent  new  Raymond 
hotel  on  the  hill  is  a  prominent  landmark  for  many 
miles  around.  The  Hotel  Green,  adjoining  the 
depot  of  the  Santa  Fe,  is  a  fine  specimen  of  Cal- 
ifornia architecture.  Another  notable  edifice  is 
Hotel  Maryland,  recently  built.  The  visitor  to 
Pasadena  in  the  present  year  of  grace  finds  it 
difficult  to  believe  that  less  than  thirty  years  ago 
the  site  of  this  beautiful  city,  then  known  as  the 
San  Pasqual  rancho,  was  sold  to  the  "Indiana 
Colony"  for  $5  an  acre,  and  the  seller  afterward 
expressed  contrition  at  having  taken  advantage  of 
the  "  tenderfeet,"  in  charging  so  exorbitant  a 
price.  Then  there  is  Mount  Lowe. 


--•^^ 


MOUNT   LOWE. 

From  Los  Angeles,  through  Pasadena  and 
Altadena,  electric  railway  cars  run  to  Rubio 
Canyon,  a  distance  of  sixteen  miles.  There 
from  an  altitude  of  2,200  feet,  the  cable 
incline  conveys  visitors  to  the  summit  of 
Echo  Mountain,  nearly  1,400  feet  higher. 
From  this  point,  where  there  is  an  observa- 
tory already  somewhat  famous  for  astronomical 
discoveries,  radiate  many  miles  of  bridle-paths, 
and  another  electric  railway  extends  to  still 
loftier  heights  at  the  Alpine  Tavern,  nearly 
a  mile  above  the  sea,  and  within  a  thousand 
feet  of  the  objective  summit,  which  is  reached 
by  bridle-path.  There  is  no  more  pleasurable 
mountain  trip  than  this,  nor  anywhere  one  more 
easy  of  accomplishment.  Sufficiently  elevated 
above  its  surroundings  to  afford  commanding  views 
which  stretch  across  wondrously  fertile  valleys  to 
other  ranges  upon  the  one  hand  and  to  the  coast- 
wise islands  of  the  Pacific  upon  the  other,  the  total 
altitude  is  not  great  enough  to  distress  those  who 
are  disordered  by  the  thin  air  of  more  exalted 
summits,  as  in  the  Rockies.  Among  the  manifold 
attractive  features  of  California  the  ascent  of 
Mount  Lowe  worthily  holds  a  conspicuous  place. 
Its  details  are  fully  described  in  local  publications, 
and  may  be  omitted  here. 


139 


THE  "  KITE-SHAPED  TRACK." 

The  most  interesting  trip  for  a  visitor  in  Southern 
California,  whose  time  is  limited,  is  that  over  what 
is  known  as  the  "  Kite-shaped  Track  "  of  the  Santa 
Fe.  Should  a  visitor  have  only  one  day  to  devote 
to  Southern  California,  he  could  not  do  better  than 
to  expend  the  time  on  this  journey,  during  which  he 
passes  through  the  heart  of  the  most  thickly  popu- 
lated and  best  cultivated  portion  of  the  "Land  of 
the  Afternoon."  The  trip  may  be  made  between 
breakfast  and  dinner,  allowing  time  for  an  inspection 
of  Riverside  and  Redlands.  The  track  is  in  the 
shape  of  two  loops,  the  larger  one  extending  from 
Los  Angeles  to  San  Bernardino  and  the  smaller 
end  from  San  Bernardino  to  Redlands. 

The  traveler  may  start  from  Los  Angeles  either 
by  the  northern  or  southern  branch  of  the  "  kite." 
Twenty-five  minutes  after  leaving  the  city,  by  the 
northern  route,  the  train  arrives  at  Pasadena. 
Turning  eastward  from  Pasadena,  the  Santa  Fe 
line  traverses  the  heart  of  the  San  Gabriel  Valley, 
perhaps  the  most  beautiful  stretch  of  country  of 
equal  expanse  in  all  Southern  California.  Especially 
is  this  so  in  winter  when  covered  with  a  vivid 
mantle  of  green,  beyond  which  are  the  tawny  foot- 
hills, dotted  over  with  chapparal,  backed  by  the 
majestic  Sierra  Madre,  pine-fringed  and  often 


The  California  Limited  at  Pasadena. 


snow-clad  in  winter,  when  oranges  are  ripening  in 
the  valley  below. 

East  of  Pasadena  the  train  runs  for  several  miles 
through  the  Santa  Anita  ranch  of  "  Lucky"  Bald- 
win. The  home  place,  with  its  lake  and  beautiful 
grounds  and  thoroughbred  horses,  is  a  favorite  resort 
for  Los  Angeles  people  and  visitors.  There  are 
many  well  kept  orchards  of  citrus  and  deciduous 
fruits  in  the  valley.  The  old  mission,  from  which 
the  valley  obtained  its  name,  lies  several  miles  to  the 
south,  and  is  not  visible  from  the  train.  A  dozen 
flourishing  towns  are  scattered  along  the  fifty 
miles  between  Pasadena  and  San  Bernardino.  The 
most  important  of  these  are  Pomona  and  Ontario, 
through  the  northern  suburbs  of  which  the  Santa 
Fe  runs.  At  Pomona  a  specialty  is  made  of  olive 
culture.  This  is  the  home  of  Osgoodby,  alias 
Murchison.  It  was  here  that  he  wrote  the  cele- 
brated letter  to  Sir  Sackville  West,  the  British 
Ambassador  at  Washington,  which  caused  such  an 
uproar  during  a  presidential  campaign.  Ontario  is 
celebrated  for  its  lemons. 

An  electric  car  line  runs  from  Upland  (North 
Ontario)  down  Euclid  avenue,  a  wide,  shaded 
thoroughfare.  On  either  side  nestle  the  homes  of 
the  citizens,  embowered  in  orange  and  lemon  groves 
and  gardens.  Ontario  was  founded  by  the 
Chaffey  brothers,  somewhat  more  than  twenty 
years  ago.  They  then  went  to  Australia  and 
laid  out  a  large  irrigated  colony  there,  after 
which  they  returned  to  Southern  California, 
141 


and  are  now  engaged  in  developing  the  settlement 
of  Imperial,  on  the  Colorado  desert,  near  Yuma. 
The  visitor  from  sections  of  the  East  where  heavy 
soils  are  the  rule  will  probably  notice  the  lightness 
of  much  of  the  soil  between  Ontario  and  San 
Bernardino.  With  an  ample  water  supply,  this 
apparently  poor  soil  gives  excellent  results  in  fruit 
culture.  As  San  Bernardino  is  approached  there  is 
seen  on  the  mountain  side  a  big  arrowhead,  a  natural 
freak  that  is  visible  for  many  miles  around. 

San  Bernardino  is  an  old  city,  as  age  is  reckoned 
among  the  American  improvements  of  Southern 
California,  having  been  settled  by  Mormons  from 
Salt  Lake  City  in  the  fifties.  They  were  after- 
ward ordered  back  to  Utah,  but  a  few  of  them 
chose  to  remain  in  this  land  of  promise,  and  some  of 
their  descendants  are  still  living  there.  Here  are 
the  Santa  Fe  shops,  which  give  employment  to  a 
number  of  men.  The  merchants  of  the  place  do  a 
considerable  trade  with  the  surrounding  country. 
A  fine  toll  road  leads,  by  an  easy  grade,  up  to  the 
pine-clad  summit  of  the  mountains,  back  of  San 
Bernardino,  where,  amid  the  big  forest  trees,  is  a 
picturesque  club  house,  known  as  Squirrel  Inn, 
surrounded  by  cottages,  in  which  some  of  the 
members  of  the  club  spend  weeks  every  summer. 

At  San  Bernardino  commences  the  smaller  loop 
of  the  Kite-shaped  Track,  which  runs  around  the 


Squirrel 
Inn. 


upper  end  of  the  Santa  Ana  Valley.  Here,  in  the 
foothills,  overlooking  a  magnificent  panorama  of 
mountain  and  valley,  lies  Redlands,  a  beautiful  up- 
to-date  little  city,  less  than  twenty  years  of  age, 
having  been  laid  out  during  the  big  real  estate 
boom  of  1887.  Redlands  people  claim  that  the 
finest  oranges  in  California  —  or  in  the  world  —  are 
raised  there,  and  the  prices  paid  for  the  product  in 
the  East  seem  to  justify  their  assertions.  Canyon 
Crest  Park,  Smiley  Heights,  a  picturesque  and 
beautifully  improved  private  estate,  now  the  property 
of  the  city,  from  which  there  are  magnificent  views 
of  the  surrounding  country,  is  open  to  visitors. 
Up  in  the  mountains,  behind  Redlands,  and  con- 
nected by  a  stage  line  during  the  summer  months, 
is  Bear  Valley,  with  its  lake,  from  which  water  is 
obtained  for  the  thirsty  orchards  below. 

This  is  a  favorite  camping  place  for  the  valley 
people,  who  find  excellent  fishing  and  shooting,  with 
plain  and  comfortable  accommodations  at  several 
points  in  the  valley.  There  are  sawmills  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Returning  around  the  loop,  close  to  the 
foothills,  the  train  passes  Highland,  where  is  located 
one  of  the  State  insane  asylums.  San  Bernardino 
is  soon  again  reached,  and  the  train  runs  southward 
on  its  spin  around  the  lower  branch  of  the  loop. 
Colton  is  a  railroad  junction.  Between  Colton  and 
Riverside  a  branch  of  the  Santa  Fe  System  runs  off 
to  the  southeast,  through  a  section  of  the  country 
that  has  been  celebrated  by  Helen  Hunt  Jackson, 
in  her  widely  read  Southern  California  novel, 


"  Ramona,"  to  Pern's,  where  it  again  divides.  One 
branch  runs  to  San  Jacinto,  in  the  valley  of  that 
name,  the  starting-place  for  Strawberry  Valley,  a 
romantic  spot  among  the  pines,  a  mile  above  the 
cities  of  the  plain.  This  has  for  many  years  been  a 
favorite  camping  ground  during  the  summer  months, 
and  has  recently  been  purchased  by  a  syndicate  of 
Los  Angeles  physicians,  who  have  expended  a  large 
amount  of  money  on  a  sanitarium,  where  the  sick, 
find  new  life  and  well  people  become  stronger  in  the 
pure,  balmy  atmosphere  of  this  lofty  region.  The 
visitor  who  is  fairly  robust  may  scale  the  summit  of 
San  Jacinto  Mountain,  five  thousand  feet  higher  up. 
Idyllwild,  as  this  resort  is  now  known,  is  reached 
from  San  Jacinto  or  Hemet  by  stage,  which  will 
shortly  be  supplemented  by  an  automobile  omnibus. 
The  main  branch  of  the  Santa  Fe  from  Ferris 
extends  to  Elsinore  and  Temecula.  At  Elsinore 
there  is  a  lake  of  considerable  size,  and  more  than  a 
hundred  hot  springs,  with  great  curative  properties. 
Around  the  lake  is  a  drive,  fifteen  miles  long.  Near 
Murietta,  south  of  Elsinore,  is  another  group  of 
hot  springs. 

The  run  from  San  Bernardino  to  Riverside  occu- 
pies only  a  little  over  twenty  minutes.  Alongside 
the  track  may  be  seen  the  big  cement  main  ditch, 
which  furnishes  ocular  demonstration  of  the  wealth 
of  water  that  has  transformed  this  arid  section  into 
a  blooming  garden.  Riverside  is  a  locality  renowned 
for  oranges,  and  oranges,  and  still  more  oranges  — 
white  and  odorous  with  the  bloom  of  them,  yellow 


Idyllwild.  i-ggftej^B 


New  Gleniuood, 
Riverside. 


with  the  sheen  of  them,  and  rich  with  the  gains  of 
them  ;  culminating  in  a  busy  little  city  overhung  by 
the  accustomed  mountain  battlements  and  pendant 
to  glorious  avenues  many  miles  in  length,  lined  with 
tall  eucalyptus,  drooping  pepper  and  sprightly  mag- 
nolia trees  in  straight  lines  as  far  as  eye  can  see, 
and  broken  only  by  short  lateral  driveways  through 
palm,  orange  and  cypress  to  mansion  homes.  The 
almost  continuous  citrus  groves  and  vineyards  of 
Riverside  are  the  result  of  twenty  years  of  co-opera- 
tive effort,  supplemented  by  some  preponderating 
advantages  of  location.  The  pioneer  settlers,  who 
were  considered  more  or  less  crazy  by  the  Southern 
Californians  of  the  early  seventies,  had  much  to  con- 
tend with  in  the  shape  of  animal  pests,  lack  of  suffi- 
cient water,  isolation  from  society  and  supplies,  and 
other  drawbacks,  but  they  persevered,  and  their 
monument  is  visible  to  all.  The  community  is  one 
of  culture  and  refinement,  and  the  Riversiders  boast 
that  their  city  is  the  wealthiest  in  the  United  States, 
in  proportion  to  population. 

After  leaving  the  station,  the  train  runs  for  sev- 
eral miles  through  a  succession  of  well-kept  orange 
groves.  Eighteen  miles  from  Riverside  is  Corona. 
A  tree-lined  avenue  extends  almost  the  entire  dis- 
tance between  the  two  places.  A  few  miles  farther 


Arcady,  Montecito. 


and  the  track  follows  the  windings  of  the  Santa  Ana 
River,  through  a  wild,  picturesque  region,  bounded 
on  each  side  by  low  ranges  of  mountains.  Orange 
is  the  next  place  of  importance.  The  three  towns 
of  Santa  Ana,  Orange  and  Tustin  form  practically 
one  continuous  settlement  of  attractive  homes. 

Here  one  may  travel  mile  after  mile,  over  good 
roads,  aligned  by  beautiful  shade  trees,  behind 
which  are  orchards  of  deciduous  and  citrus  fruit,  in 
a  high  state  of  cultivation.  Orange  is  a  railroad 
junction  on  the  line  from  Los  Angeles  to  San 
Diego,  by  way  of  Santa  Ana.  Anaheim,  the  next 
stopping  place,  is  the  pioneer  settlement  of  this 
region,  having  been  founded  more  than  forty  years 
ago  as  a  co-operative  vineyard  colony  by  Germans 
from  San  Francisco.  The  town  lies  a  short  distance 
from  the  railroad,  on  the  left.  A  few  miles  west 
of  Anaheim,  and  connected  with  it  by  a  short  line  of 
railroad,  is  the  LosAlamitos  beet  and  sugar  factory, 
in  which  Senator  Clark,  the  Montana  mining  mil- 
lionaire, is  interested.  Fullerton,  the  next  largest 
town  of  Orange  County,  was  laid  out  during  the 
real  estate  boom  of  1887.  It  has  since  developed 
on  merit,  and  it  is  now  an  important  shipping 
point  for  horticultural  products.  There  are  also 
a  number  of  profitable  oil  wells  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

La  Mirada,  with   a  pretty  little  station,  built  in 

the  Mission  style  of  architecture,  is  the   center  of 

an  extensive  tract   of    olive  and  lemon   orchards, 

covering  3,000  acres.     It  was  founded   by   a  well- 

*47 


known  Chicago  publisher,  whose  object  was  to 
assemble  here  a  colony  of  congenial  people  of 
wealth  and  taste,  who  should  erect  country  villas 
to  be  occupied  during  the  winter.  •  In  connec- 
tion with  this  enterprise  is  a  chemical  laboratory, 
in  which  are  prepared  a  number  of  by-products 
from  the  orange,  lemon  and  grape  fruit.  Santa  Fe 
Springs,  formerly  known  as  Fulton  Wells,  is  sa 
named  from  springs  of  mineral  water,  for  which 
great  medicinal  effects  are  claimed  in  the  treat- 
ment of  rheumatism,  gout  and  other  diseases. 
There  is  a  sanitarium,  which  is  open  all  the  year 
around.  A  few  miles  away,  to  the  right,  on  the 
side  of  a  sloping  hill,  may  be  seen  Whittier,  which 
was  started  in  1887  as  a  Quaker  colony.  The 
large  brick  building  is  one  of  the  State  reform 
schools,  in  which  several  hundred  wayward  boys 
and  girls  are  taught  useful  trades.  Fine  lemons 
and  other  fruit  are  raised  at  Whittier,  and  there 
are  a  number  of  producing  oil  wells  in  the  hills 
back  of  the  town.  Rivera,  a  small  settlement 
between  the  old  and  the  new  San  Gabriel  Rivers, 
is  the  chief  walnut-growing  section  of  Southern 
California.  Standing  upon  the  dome  of  the  hotel, 
and  looking  to  the  northeast,  south  and  west,  the 
eye  may  follow  long  stretches  of  this  valuable  tree, 
for  miles  in  every  direction.  In  less  than  twenty 
minutes  after  leaving  Rivera  the  train  pulls  up  at 
the  Los  Angeles  depot. 


Hotel 
Redondo 


SEASIDE  RESORTS. 


There  are  several  popular  seaside  resorts  in  the 
vicinity  of  Los  Angeles,  easily  reached,  within  an 
hour,  by  steam  or  electric  cars.  They  are  largely 
patronized  by  residents  and  visitors,  especially  dur- 
ing the  summer  months.  Of  late  the  fact  has 
begun  to  be  realized  that  in  some  respects  these 
places  are  even  more  attractive  during  the  winter, 
after  the  rains  have  carpeted  the  surrounding 
country  with  a  mantle  of  green,  and  laid  the  dust. 
It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  see  a  crowd  of  merry 
visitors  sporting  amid  the  breakers  at  Christmas, 
in  plain  view  of  the  snow-capped  Sierra  Madre 
Mountains. 

The  chief  of  these  resorts  are  Redondo,  Santa 
Monica,  Long  Beach,  Ocean  Park  and  Plaza  del 
Ray.  Santa  Monica  is  the  oldest.  All  are  well 
improved,  progressive  towns,  with  beautiful  homes, 
fine  beaches,  comfortable  hotels'  and  many  attrac- 
tions for  summer  visitors.  About  three  miles 
north  of  Santa  Monica  is  the  mile-long  wharf  of 
the  Southern  Pacific  Company.  Adjoining  Ocean 
Park,  a  new  resort  called  Venice  of  America  is 
being  built  on  novel  and  unique  lines. 

Redondo  has  a  large  hotel  and  wharf,  from  which 
there  is  good  fishing,  a  swimming  bath,  pebble 
beach,  and  a  nursery,  where  may  be  seen  several 
acres  of  beautiful  carnations. 
There  is  a  commodious  hotel, 
facing  the  ocean. 

149 


Long  Beach,  the  most  easterly  of  the  seaside 
resorts  of  Los  Angeles  County,  has  made  a  very 
rapid  growth  during  the  past  two  years.  It  is 
specially  favored  by  families,  and  is  the  place  of 
meeting  for  the  Chautauqua  Association  in  this 
part  of  the  country.  Here  is  one  of  the  finest 
hard  beaches  on  the  Pacific  coast,  several  miles  in 
length,  where  excellent  surf  bathing  may  be 
enjoyed. 

A  few  miles  west  of  Long  Beach  is  Terminal 
Island,  a  new  seaside  resort  on  a  narrow  spit  of 
land,  where  a  number  of  Los  Angeles  people  have 
summer  cottages  upon  the  beach.  Across  the  bay 
is  San  Pedro,  the  chief  port  of  Los  Angeles.  Off 
shore  may  be  seen  the  long  trestlework  where 
the  United  States  Government  is  building  a  big 
breakwater  for  the  improvement  of  the  harbor,  so 
that  ocean-going  vessels  may  enter,  instead  of  lying 
off  shore.  Standing  out  boldly  against  the  horizon 
is  the  lighthouse  on  Point  Fermin,  a  beacon  to 
mariners.  San  Pedro  is  now  a  place  of  consider- 
able importance,  which  will  be  greatly  increased 
after  the  harbor  improvements  are  completed. 


150 


SANTA  CATALINA  ISLAND. 

Thirty  miles  off  the  coast  it  rises,  like  Capri, 
from  the  sea,  a  many-peaked  mountain  cap,  vary- 
ing in  width  from  half  a  mile  to  nine  miles,  and 
more  than  twenty  long.  Its  bold  cliff  shores  are 
broken  by  occasional  pockets  rimmed  by  a  semi- 
circular beach  of  sand.  The  most  famous  of  these 
is  Avalon,  one  of  the  most  frequented  camping 
grounds  of  Southern  California.  In  midsummer  its 
numerous  hotels  are  filled  to  overflowing,  and  in 
the  hundreds  of  tents  clustered  by  the  water's  edge 
thousands  of  pleasure-seekers  gather  in  the  height 
of  the  season.  Summer  is  the  period  of  Santa 
Catalina's  greatest  animation,  for  then,  as  in  other 
lands,  comes  vacation  time.  But  there  is  even  less 
variation  of  season  than  on  the  mainland,  and  the 
nights  are  soft  and  alluring,  because  the  seaward- 
blowing  mountain  air  is  robbed  of  all  its  chill  in 
passing  over  the  equable  waters.  Here  after  night- 
fall verandas  and  the  beach  are  still  thronged.  The 
tiny  harbor  is  filled  with  pleasure-craft  of  every 
description,  from  rowboats  to  commodious  yachts, 
and  hundreds  of  bathers  disport  in  the  placid  ele- 
ment. 

Wonderful  are  the  waters  of  Avalon,  blue 
as  a  Mediterranean  sky  and  astonishingly  clear. 
Through  the  glass  bottom  of  skiffs  specially  con- 
structed for  the  purpose  you  may  gaze  down 
through  a  hundred  feet  of  transparency  to  where 
emerald  weeds  wave  and  myriad  fishes,  blue  and 
15* 


\ 


brown  and  flaming  red,  swim  over  pebble  and  shell. 
Or,  climbing  the  overhanging  cliffs,  you  gain  the 
fish-eagle's  view  of  the  life  that  teems  in  water- 
depths,  and  looking  down  half  a  thousand  feet  upon 
the  fisherman  in  his  boat  see  the  bright-hued  fishes 
flashing  far  beneath  him.  He  seems  to  hang  sus- 
pended in  the  sky. 

Notable  fishing  is  to  be  had.  The  barracuda  is 
plentiful;  likewise  the  yellow-tail,  or  sea-salmon, 
also  generally  taken  by  trolling,  and  frequently  tip- 
ping a  truthful  scale  at  fifty  pounds.  Sea-bass 
fishing  is  a  famous  sport  here,  and  probably  the 
most  exciting  known  anywhere  to  the  hand-fjsher- 
man.  This  fish  is  commonly  taken,  and  in  weight 
ranges  from  2OO  to  400  pounds.  The  fisherman 
who  hooks  one  is  frequently  dragged  in  his  skiff  for 
several  miles,  and  finds  himself  nearly  as  much 
exhausted  as  the  fish  when  it  finally  comes  to  gaff. 

The  most  popular  fishing  at  Catalina,  however,  is 
for  the  tuna,  known  in  the  Mediterranean  as  the 
"  tunny,"  a  gamy  fish  that  furnishes  the  ambitious 
angler  all  the  sport  he  can  reasonably  expect,  and 
more  than  many  can  appreciate.  Visitors  come 
from  all  over  the  world  to  fish  for  tuna  at  Catalina 
and  a  tuna  club  has  been  formed,  which  issues 
diplomas  and  prizes  to  those  who  capture  with  rod 
and  reel  the  biggest  tuna  during  each  season.  They 
must  do  it  without  assistance,  and  this  is  frequently 
a  difficult  job,  as  the  tuna  sometimes  weighs  over 
250  pounds,  and  has  been  known  to  pull  a  boat  con-  - 
taining  three  people  for  nearly  twelve  hours.  The 


favorite  diet  of  the  tuna  is  flying  fish,  in  following 
which  they  will  jump  out  of  the  water  and  catch 
their  prey  in  the  air.  The  average  weight  of 
sixty-one  tuna  caught  with  rod  and  reel  at  Catalina 
during  the  season  of  1901  was  119  1-2  pounds,  and 
of  142  black  sea-bass,  or  "jewfish,"  caught  in  like 
manner,  225  1-2  pounds. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  novelty  of  a  trip  to  Santa 
Catalina,  for  most  travelers,  is  the  great  number  of 
flying  fish  that  inhabit  its  waters.  At  only  a  few 
miles'  distance  from  the  mainland  they  begin  to  leap 
from  beneath  the  bows  of  the  steamer,  singly,  by 
twos  and  by  half  dozens,  until  one  wearies  of  count- 
ing, and  skim  over  the  waves  like  so  many  swal- 
lows. The  length  of  flight  of  which  this  poetical 
fish  is  capable  proves  usually  a  surprise,  for  in  spite 
of  its  abundance  off  the  Southern  California  coast  its 
precise  character  is  none  too  generally  known.  In 
size,  form  and  color  it  may  be  roughly  compared  to 
the  mackerel.  Its  "wings"  are  muscular  fins 
whose  spines  are  connected  by  a  light  but  strong 
membrane,  and  are  four  in  number.  The  hinder- 
most  pair  are  quite  small,  mere  butterfly  wings  of 
stout  fiber;  the  foremost  pair  attain  a  length  of 
seven  or  eight  inches,  and  when  extended  are  two 
inches  or  more  in  breadth.  Breaking  from  the 
water  at  a  high  rate  of  speed,  but  at  a  very  low 
angle,  the  flying  fish  extends  these  winglike  fins 
and  holds  them  rigid,  like  the  set  wings  of  a  soaring 
hawk.  With  the  lower  flange  of  its  deeply  forked 
tail,  which  at  first  drags  lightly,  it  sculls  with  a  con- 
J54 


vulsive  wriggle  of  the  whole  body  that  gives  it  the 
casual  appearance  of  actually  winging  its  way.  The 
additional  impulse  thus  acquired  lifts  it  entirely 
from  the  water,  over  whose  surface  it  then  glides 
without  further  effort  for  a  long  distance,  until, 
losing  in  momentum  and  in  the  sustaining  pressure 
of  the  air  beneath  its  outstretched  fins,  it  again 
touches  the  water,  either  to  abruptly  disappear  or 
by  renewed  sculling  to  prolong  its  flight.  Whales 
of  great  size  are  frequently  seen  in  the  channel 
separating  Catalina  from  the  main  land. 

In  the  less  frequented  portions  of  the  island  the 
wild  goat  is  still  common.  If  you  wish  to  hunt  the 
goat  you  must  first  procure  a  permit,  and  to  obtain 
that  you  must  adduce  evidence  of  your  ability  to 
tell  a  goat  from  domestic  sheep  upon  sight. 

Santa  Catalina  is  reached  by  steamer  from  San 
Pedro,  connecting  with  trains  from  Los  Angeles. 
The  exhilarating  ocean  ride  and  the  unique  pleas- 
ures of  the  island  can  not  be  too  strongly  com- 
mended. 

SANTA  BARBARA. 

Saint  Barbara  is,  in  Spain,  the  patroness  of  gun- 
powder and  coast  defenses,  and  the  invocation  of 
her  name  seems  to  have  occurred  in  the  light  of  a 
desirable  precaution  to  the  founder  of  this  mission, 
who  was  so  fond  of  building  by  the  sea ;  although, 
like  one  of  our  own  heroes,  who  supplemented  his 
trust  in  Providence  by  protecting  his  ammunition' 


from  the  rain,  he  kept  here,  as  at  a  number  of  other 
points,  a  garrison  of  soldiers  and  a  few  small 
cannon. 

The  place  was  long  known  the  world  over  as 
"The  American  Mentone,"  because  in  seeking  a 
term  to  convey  its  characteristics  some  comparison 
with  celebrated  resorts  of  Europe  was  thought  nec- 
essary and  this  particular  comparison  most  fitting. 

Such  definition  is  no  longer  required.  Santa  Bar- 
bara is  a  name  that  now  everywhere  evokes  the  soft 
picture  of  a  rose-buried  spot,  more  than  a  village, 
less  than  a  city,  rising  gently  from  the  sea-rim  by 
way  of  shaded  avenue  and  plaza  to  the  foot  of  the 
gray  Santa  Ynez  Mountains,  above  whose  peaks 
the  condor  loves  to  soar ;  where,  when  with  us  the 
winter  winds  are  most  bitter,  normal  existence  is  a 
joyous  activity  in  constant  summer  sunshine.  It 
presents  an  endless  variety  of  winsomeness. 

The  flat  beach  is  broken  by  rocky  points 
where  the  surf  spouts  in  white  columns  with  deaf- 
ening roar,  and  above  it  lies  a  long  mesa,  dotted 
with  live-oaks,  that  looks  down  upon  the  little 
dreaming  mission  city  and  far  oceanward ;  and  on 
the  other  hand  the  mountain  slopes  beckon  to 
innumerable  glens,  and,  when  the  rains  have  come, 
to  broad  hillsides  of  green  and  banks  of  blossom. 
There  are  long  level  drives  by  the  shore,  and  up  the 
prolific  valley  to  famous  orchard  ranches,  and  Mon- 
tecito,  a  fairyland  of  homes,  is  close  at  hand. 
Between  Los  Angeles  and  Santa  Barbara,  on  the 


Hotel  Potter, 
Santa  Barbara. 


coast,  lies  San  Buena  Ventura,  with  a  well  preserved 
mission,  and  Summerland,  where  may  be  seen  the 
curious  spectacle  of  oil  wells  pumping  from  wharves 
erected  for  the  purpose,  and  extending  beyond  low- 
water  mark. 

Four  of  the  Channel  Islands  lie  opposite  Santa 
Barbara —  Anacapa,  Santa  Cruz,  Santa  Rosa,  and 
San  Miguel.  The  last  three  are  only  less  attractive 
by  nature  than  Santa  Catalina,  of  which  mention 
was  made  in  its  place,  and  although  equal  facilities 
do  not  exist  for  the  tourist,  many  persons  find  their 
way  there  by  means  of  fishing  boats,  which  fre- 
quently leave  Santa  Barbara  for  the  island  fishing 
grounds. 

These  islands,  now  permanently  inhabited  only 
by  sheep-herders,  who  tend  flocks  of  many  thou- 
sands, were  once  populated  by  a  primitive  people, 
whose  burial  mounds,  as  yet  only  partly  ex- 
humed by  casual  visitors,  are  rich  in  archaeological 
treasures. 

Santa  Barbara  lies  northwest  from  Los  Angeles, 
on  the  coast  line  of  the  Southern  Pacific.  The 
new  Hotel  Potter,  located  on  a  large  tract  facing 
the  ocean  boulevard,  is  the  largest  in  the  city. 
This  palatial  edifice  is  six  stories  high,  covers  two 
acres  of  ground,  and  cost  a  million  dollars.  The 
architecture  is  that  of  the  old  Spanish  missions. 
There  are  five  hundred  guest  rooms,  four  roof 
gardens,  polo  grounds  and  tennis  courts.  Visitors 
to  Santa  Barbara  are  thus  guaranteed  the  very  best 
accommodations. 

157 


OSTRICH  FARMING. 

One  of  the  popular  attractions  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, that  is  visited  by  most  new  arrivals,  is  the 
ostrich  farm,  at  South  Pasadena,  about  half  an 
hour's  ride  from  Los  Angeles  on  the  electric  rail- 
road. Here  may  be  seen  nearly  150  ostriches, 
ranging  in  size  from  the  newly  hatched  chick  to  the 
mammoth,  full-grown  bird.  Ostriches  appear  to  do 
as  well  in  Southern  California  as  in  South  Africa, 
their  native  habitat.  There  were  formerly  several 
small  ostrich  farms  in  this  section,  but  they  have  all 
been  combined  in  the  establishment  at  South  Pasa- 
dena, which  has  been  running  for  a  number  of 
years.  It  is  not  merely  a  show  place  for  visitors, 
but  does  a  large  and  profitable  business  in  the  sale  of 
ostrich  feathers  and  useful  and  ornamental  articles 
manufactured  therefrom,  which  are  exported  to  all 
parts  of  the  United  States. 

There  were  recently  imported  to  this  farm  seven- 
teen Nubian  birds,  which  are  supposed  to  have  the 
finest  plumage  of  any  of  the  African  ostriches.  They 
run  wild,  and  the  only  way  to  obtain  them  is  by  bar- 
tering with  the  natives  for  the  chicks,  the  old  ones 
escaping.  As  there  is  an  export  duty  of  $500  on 
each  ostrich  sent  out  of  South  Africa,  these  are  the 
only  birds  that  can  now  be  obtained  to  improve  the 
California  stock.  The  proprietor  of  this  establish- 
ment recently  opened  an  ostrich  farm  between 


Nice  and  Monte  Carlo,  in  the  south  of  France, 
with  birds  from  South  Pasadena,  so  that  Southern 
California  may  now  add  to  her  other  varied 
resources  the  exportation  of  ostriches. 

WINTER  SPORTS. 

Where  out-of-door  life  is  the  rule,  there  being 
neither  frost  nor  chill  throughout  the  day,  recreation 
becomes  a  matter  of  pure  selection,  unhampered  by 
any  climatic  condition  outside  the  relatively  infre- 
quent rainstorm.  A  few  enthusiasts  make  a  point 
of  taking  a  daily  dip  in  the  surf,  but  the  practice 
does  not  reach  the  proportions  of  a  popular  pastime 
in  midwinter.  Cross-country  riding  finds  then  its 
perfect  season,  the  whole  land  being  transformed 
into  a  garden,  over  enough  of  which  the  horseman 
is  free  to  wander.  Happy  must  he  be  who  knows 
a  purer  sport  than  to  gallop,  either  singly  or  with 
comrades,  in  fragrant  morning  air  over  a  fresh  sod 
spangled  with  poppy,  violet,  forget-me-not,  larkspur 
and  alfilerilla;  bursting  through  dense  thickets  of 
lilac  and  mustard  to  cross  an  intervening  highway; 
dipping  to  verdant  meadow  vales  ;  skirting  orchards 
heavy  with  fruit,  and  mounting  tree-capped  knolls 
that  look  off  to  glimmers  of  sea  between  the  slopes 
of  the  hills. 

Coaching  has  its  proper  season  then,  as  well, 
and  the  horn  of  the  tallyho  is  frequently  heard. 
For  such  as  like  to  trifle  with  the  snows  from  which 
they  have  fled,  the  foothills  are  at  hand,  serried  with 
tall  firs  in  scattering  growths  or  dense  shadowy 


jungles,  topping  canyons  where  the  wagon-trail 
crosses  and  recrosses  a  stream  by  pleasant  fords,  and 
the  crested  mountain  quail  skulks  over  the  ridge 
above  one's  head.  There  may  be  had  climbing  to 
suit  every  taste,  touching  extremes  of  chaotic  tan- 
gle of.  chaparral  and  crag.  There  are  cliffs  over 
which  the  clear  mountain-water  tumbles  sheer  to 
great  depths;  notches  through  which  the  distant 
con'es  of  the  highest  peaks  of  the  mother  range  may 
be  seen  in  whitest  ermine,  huge  pines  dotting  their 
drifts  like  petty  clumps  of  weed.  Under  foot,  too, 
on  the  northerly  slopes  is  snow,  just  over  the  ridge 
from  where  the  sun  is  as  warm  and  the  air  as  gentle 
as  in  the  valley,  save  only  the  faintest  sense  of  added 
vigor  and  rarefaction.  So  near  do  these  extremes 
lie,  and  yet  so  effectually  separated,  you  may  thrust 
into  the  mouth  of  a  snow  man  a  rose  broken  from 
the  bush  an  hour  or  two  before,  and  pelt  him  with 
oranges  plucked  at  the  very  mouth  of  the  canyon. 
And  one  who  is  not  too  susceptible  may  comfort- 
ably linger  until  the  sun  has  set,  and  above  the 
lower  dusky  peaks  the  loftier  ones  glow  rose-pink  in 
the  light  of  its  aftershine,  until  the  moon  lights  the 
fissures  of  the  canyon  with  a  ghostly  radiance 
against  which  the  black  shadows  of  the  cliffs  fall 
like  ink-blots. 

Notwithstanding  the  rapid  settlement  of  South- 
ern California,  this  section  can  still  show  better 
fishing  and  hunting  during  the  winter  season  than 
almost  any  other  region  of  the  country.  With  the 
first  grass  that  follows  the  early  winter  rains  the 
1 60 


wild  duck  comes  down  from  his  northern  nursery 
to  bathe  in  the  warm  sunshine.  The  glistening 
green  of  the  mallard's  neck  dots  the  water  of  the 
lagoon.  Duck  shooting  on  a  moonlight  night  is  a 
favorite  sport.  With  the  mallard  come  the  canvas- 
back,  the  redhead,  the  sprigtail,  the  gadwell,  the 
widgeon,  the  spoonbill  and  the  delicate  little  teal. 
This  is  not  the  blue-winged  teal  of  the  Mississippi 
Valley,  or  the  green-wing  that  is  there  so  common, 
but  another  variety  of  green-wing,  of  about  the 
same  size  as  the  Eastern  bird,  and  with  equal 
swiftness  of  wing.  These  ducks,  and  some  others, 
are  found  in  great  abundance  during  the  winter 
season,  within  an  hour's  ride  of  Los  Angeles. 
There  are  great  flocks  of  the  Canada  goose, 
together  with  the  snow  goose.  They  feed  on  the 
alfilerilla  and  clover  of  the  plains  and  hills,  occa- 
sionally making  excursions  into  the  grain  fields. 
The  valley  quail  of  California  is  a  gamy  bird,  which 
has  become  somewhat  shy  since  guns  have  increased 
in  number.  Formerly  this  bird  was  so  abundant  that 
one  might  easily  obtain  as  big  a  bag  as  could  be  car- 
ried home,  without  a  dog,  but  now  a  good  bird  dog 
is  becoming  essential,  unless  the  sportsman  is  an 
expert,  or  goes  into  a  thinly  settled 'region.  The 
little  brown  plover  makes  good  game  for  the  begin- 
ner during  the  greater  part  of  the  winter.  The 
mountain  pigeons  sometimes  come  down  in  flocks, 
and  afford  lively  shooting.  The  English  snipe  is 
found  on  some  of  the  meadows.  Among  the 
brush,  on  the  foothills,  cottontail  and  hare  are 
161 


plentiful,  in  seasons  of  normal  rainfall.  One  needs 
to  be  a  good  shot  to  make  a  bag  of  these  active 
little  animals.  Deer  are  becoming  scarce,  but  are 
still  brought  in  during  the  season.  The  Pacific 
Ocean  abounds  in  fish,  and  while  midwinter  is  not 
the  best  season,  there  is  often  good  fishing  along 
the  coast  long  before  the  winter  is  over.  Among 
the  leading  members  of  the  finny  tribe  that  may  be 
counted  on  to  furnish  sport  are  mackerel,  yellow- 
tail,  barracuda  and  bonita.  Then,  among  deep- 
water  fish,  are  the  rock  cod,  the  redfish  and  others. 

Catalina  Island,  thirty  miles  from  the  main- 
land, is  a  noted  place  for  the  catching  of  big  fish 
with  rod  and  reel,  especially  the  gamy  tuna,  to 
which  sport  reference  has  been  made  on  a  preced- 
ing page.  There  are  also  found  the  monster 
"Jewfish,"  weighing  sometimes  over  400  pounds. 
The  catches  frequently  made  by  fishermen  in  the 
Bay  of  Avalon,  within  a  few  hours,  are  so  remark- 
able as  to  challenge  the  credulity  of  Eastern  peo- 
ple, so  that  the  sportsman  usually  carries  home 
with  him  a  few  photographs,  as  an  ocular  demon- 
stration of  his  prowess.  In  the  spring  months 
trout  fishing  is  a  favorite  sport  all  along  the  streams 
of  the  Sierra  Madre  range,  within  a  few  hours' 
journey  of  Los  Angeles,  amid  wild  and  romantic 
scenery. 

The  grizzly  was  once  exceedingly  common.  One 

of  the  great  sports  of  the  old  mission  days  was  to 

hunt  the  grizzly  on  horseback  with  the  riata  for 

sole  weapon,  and  it  is  of  record  that   in  a  single 

162 


neighborhood  thirty  or  forty  of  these  formi- 
dable brutes  were  sometimes  captured  in  a 
night  by  roping,  precisely  as  a  modern  cowboy 
ropes  a  steer ;  the  secret  of  the  sportsmen's 
immunity  lying  in  the  fact  that  the  bear  was 
almost  simultaneously  lassoed  from  different 
sides  and  in  that  manner  rigidly  pinioned. 
But  Ursus  horribilis  has  long  since  retreated 
to  deep  solitudes,where  his  occasional  pursuers, 
far  from  approaching  him  with  a  rawhide 
noose,  go  armed  with  heavy  repeating  rifles, 
and  even  thus  equipped  are  not  eager  to 
encounter  him  at  very  close  range. 

Cricket  is  naturally  a  favorite  diversion 
among  the  many  young  Englishmen  who  have 
located  upon  ranches ;  and  yachting,  polo  and  tennis 
do  not  want  for  devotees.  The  recent  American 
enthusiasm  for  golf  likewise  extends  to  Southern 
California.  Excellent  links  will  be  found  in  Los 
Angeles,  Pasadena,  Coronado,  Santa  Monica,  Santa 
Catalina,  and  elsewhere. 

A  LAND  OF  FLOWERS. 

Nothing  is  more  delightful  and  astonishing  to 
visitors  in  California  than  the  wonderful  wealth  of 
flowers,  and  winter  and  early  spring  are  the  best 
times  to  witness  this  beautiful  exposition  of  nat- 
ural beauty.  Indeed,  these  are  the  only  seasons 
in  which  the  wild  flowers  may  be  seen  in  variety. 
Soon  after  the  first  rain  the  dull  brown  of  the  hills 
and  plains  is  supplanted  by  a  mantle  of  vivid  green, 


and  this,  later  in  the  season,  is  transformed  into  a 
carpet  of  variegated  hues.  The  most  rare  and  ten- 
der plants,  which  in  the  East  are  found  only  in 
hot-houses,  here  grow  rampant  in  the  gardens. 
The  size  to  which  some  of  these  plants  attain  is 
astonishing.  The  geranium  and  heliotrope  cover 
the  side  of  a  house,  and  two-story  buildings  are 
smothered  in  blossoms  from  a  single  rose-bush. 
The  mammoth  California  violet  has  acquired  a 
world-wide  reputation.  In  the  front  yard  of  the 
humblest  cottage  may  be  seen  the  brilliant  poin- 
settias,  luxuriant  passion  vines,  heliotrope,  bego- 
nias, calla-lilies,  together  with  waving  bananas, 
magnificent  palms  and  graceful  bamboos.  The 
calla-lily  and  tube-rose  are  planted  by  the  acre,  for 
the  market.  Among  the  most  interesting  sights 
of  Southern  California  are  the  flower  carnivals, 
held  at  regular  intervals  in  Los  Angeles,  Pasadena, 
Santa  Barbara,  and  other  cities,  where  may  be  seen 
all  kinds  of  vehicles,  from  a  bicycle  to  a  four-in- 
hand,  smothered  in  fragrant  blossoms.  Flowering 
trees  are  also  here  in  abundance,  notable  among 
which  are  varieties  of  the  eucalyptus,  bearing 
bunches  of  beautiful  blossoms,  in  all  shades  of  red, 
white  and  yellow.  At  the  State  Experiment  Sta- 
tion, near  Santa  Monica,  are  over  one  hundred 
varieties  of  this  tree.  It  is  not  a  constant  struggle 
to  make  flowers  and  plants  grow  in  California 
throughout  the  year.  Plenty  of  water  and  a  little 
cultivation,  and  a  kindly  nature  does  the  rest.  The 
most  noted  of  the  wild  flowers  which  make  the 
164 


country  a  blaze  of  glory  during  the  later  winter 
months  and  in  the  early  spring  is  the  California 
P°PPy>  which  has  been  burdened  with  the  unro- 
mantic  name  of  escholtzia.  This  has  been  made 
the  State  flower.  The  hills  back  of  Pasadena  are 
a  blaze  of  gold  with  this  beautiful  wild  flower,  in 
the  early  spring,  and  on  a  clear  day  the  yellow  tint 
may  be  clearly  discerned  from  the  ocean,  thirty  miles 
distant.  Another  beautiful  wild  flower,  abundant 
in  the  foothills  of  Southern  California,  is  the  scarlet 
larkspur,  a  flower  peculiar  to  this  State,  the  seeds 
of  which  sold  in  Germany  thirty  years  ago  at  $25 
an  ounce. 

There  is  a  commercial  side  to  flower  culture  in 
Southern  California.  Besides  supplying  the  local 
market,  florists  have  occasionally  made  shipments 
of  cut  flowers  to  the  East,  with  varying  success. 
At  Redondo  and  Santa  Monica  may  be  seen  several 
acres  of  magnificent  carnations,  a  flower  which 
appears  to  thrive  particularly  well  near  the  sea-coast. 
The  growing  of  seeds  for  Eastern  dealers  is  a  prof- 
itable business.  One  enterprising  woman  at  San 
Buena  Ventura  has  made  a  great  success  in  growing 
seeds  and  developing  new  varieties.  There  have 
been  attempts  at  the  manufacture  of  perfumery 
from  flowers. 


V. 


CENTRAL  CALIFORNIA. 

/CENTRAL  CALIFORNIA  comprises  that  part 

^-^  of  the  State  between  Tehachapi  Mountains 
and  San  Francisco.  Its  chief  feature  is  the  great 
San  Joaquin  Valley,  bordered  on  sunset  and  sunrise 
sides  by  the  Sierra  Nevada  and  coast  ranges. 

Going  from  Barstow  (junction  point  for  Southern 
California)  over  the  line  of  the  Santa  Fe  to  San 
Francisco,  the  desert  continues  as  far  as  Mojave. 
The  railroad  has  robbed  these  wastes  of  their  worst 
terrors.  Occasional  friendly  oases  mark  the  homes 
of  adventurous  settlers,  and  on  either  hand  scarred 
mountain-faces  proclaim  the  conquering  miner, 
who,  seeking  gold,  is  undismayed  by  Nature's  for- 
bidding front.  Off  to  the  north  is  the  Randsburg 
mining  district,  reached  by  rail  from  Kramer  Sta- 
tion. But  the  prevailing  note  is  that  of  silence  and 
desolation. 

Beyond  Mojave  the  line  bears  northward.  The 
summit  of  Tehachapi  Range  is  achieved  by  a  series 
of  remarkable  loops  and  tunnels.  Tehachapi  Pass, 


with  its  limpid  streams,  shady  forests  and  coof  air,  **"" 
is  in  pleasing  contrast  to  the  hot  Mojave  sands. 
The  altitude  is  nearly  4,000  feet,  with  steep  grades 
that  are  only  surmounted  by  a  strong  and  steady^ 
pull.  Rapidly  descending,  the  imperial  San  Joa- 
quin  Valley,  32,000  square  miles  in  extent,  is 
entered  at  Bakersfield.  In  this  magnificent  basin, 
containing  ten  million  acres  of  arable  land,  products 
of  the  temperate,  semi-tropical  and  tropical  zones 
flourish  side  by  side.  Along  its  eastern  slope  are 
numerous  mines  and  dense  forests,  while  at  its 
southern  extremity  an  extensive  petroleum  field 
pours  rich  floods  from  a  thousand  throats. 

The  greatness  of  the  San  Joaquin  is  too  super- 
lative for  more  than  a  brief  outline  here.  Those 
interested  in  the  subject  are  referred  to  a  book 
published  by  the  passenger  department  of  the  Santa 
Fe,  entitled  "The  San  Joaquin  Valley  in  Cali- 
fornia." 

The  pleasure-seeker  may  be  wooed  from  his 
Pullman  by  stories  of  the  wondrous  big  trees  that 
are  reached  by  stage  rides  from  either  Merced  or 
Visalia  stations;  or  he  may  be  attracted  by  the 
scenic  beauties  of  lovely  Yosemite,  and  the  wild 
canyons  of  Kings  and  Kern  rivers — these  latter 
known  to  few  travelers,  but  pronounced  indescriba- 


A  Sati  Jiayuirt  Valley 
Vineyard. 


bly  grand.  Mount  Whitney,  the  king  of  the  Cali- 
fornia Sierras,  rises  higher  than  any  peak  in  the 
United  States,  exclusive  of  the  Alaskan  giants. 

The  business  man  will  be  allured  by  the  many 
opportunities  here  offered  for  successful  farming, 
manufacturing  and  trading.  This  vast  expanse 
constitutes  one-fifth  of  California's  total  area,  con- 
tains twelve  counties,  is  260  miles  long  by  60  to  90 
miles  wide,  and  is  nearly  as  large  as  Indiana. 

Steamers  ply  between  San  Francisco  and  Stock- 
ton; the  San  Joaquin  River  is  navigable  at  all  times 
for  a  considerable  distance,  especially  in  the  rainy 
season.  It  is  fed  by  many  tributary  streams,  such 
as  Kern,  Kings,  Merced,  Tuolumne,  and  Stanislaus 
rivers,  which  head  in  mountain  snows  and  furnish  — 
by  irrigation's  aid  —  abundant  water  for  crops. 
The  east  side  of  the  valley  is  a  network  of  main 
and  lateral  canals.  Abundant  crops  are  thus 
assured,  for  the  soil  only  needs  wetting  at  the  right 
times  to  yield  luxuriantly. 

Half  the  grain  grown  in  California  is  harvested 
along  the  San  Joaquin.  Wheat  farms  of  10,000  to 
50,000  acres  are  not  uncommon.  On  these  big 
areas  wholesale  methods  are  imperative.  Large 
gang  plows,  operated  by  traction  engines,  are 
employed.  Harvesting  is  accomplished  only  by  the 
aid  of  machines  drawn  by  as  many  as  thirty  horses, 
that  cut  and  thrash  the  grain,  delivering  it  in  sacks 
ready  for  shipment. 


Alfalfa,  the  favorite  forage  plant  of  California, 
grows  greenly  on  thousands  of  acres,  and  great 
cattle  ranches  contribute  their  quota  of  industrial 
wealth.  The  tendency  now  is  to  divide  these  big 
holdings  and  invite  settlement  by  small  farmers,  fruit- 
raisers,  and  cattlemen.  The  Laguna  deTache  grant, 
west  of  Fresno,  is  an  example  of  such  colonization. 

Raisin  and  wine  industries  center  at  Fresno, 
where  there  are  raisin-seeding  and  packing  plants, 
wineries  and  distilleries.  Fresno  County  alone  has 
40,000  acres  of  vineyards. 

Bakersfield,  Tulare,  Visalia,  Hanford,  Fresno, 
Merced  and  Stockton  are  the  principal  cities  — 
thriving  communities,  with  modern  business  blocks, 
tree-bowered  homes  and  public  buildings  worthy  of 
cities  twice  their  size. 

Clustering  around  these  busy  centers  of  industry 
are  found  immense  orchards  of  prunes,  peaches, 
apricots,  figs,  and  other  fruits,  also  profitable  dairies. 

On  the  rich  river  bottom  lands,  near  Stockton, 
winter  vegetables  are  grown  for  the  Eastern  markets. 

A  million  and  a  quarter  persons  could  easily  be 
accommodated  on  the  farming  lands  of  the  San 
Joaquin  Valley,  allowing  a  family  of  five  to  each 
forty-acre  tract.  Without  wishing  to  usurp  the 
prerogatives  of  the  real  estate  boomer,  one  may 
truthfully  affirm  that  the  San  Joaquin  Valley  is  an 
ideal  place  for  the  man  who  wishes  to  begin  in  a 


moderate  way  and  surely  acquire  a  competence. 
Small  tracts  can  be  bought  at  reasonable  rates,  on 
time,  with  excellent  water  rights.  One  need  not 
wait  years  for  his  orchard  to  come  into  bearing. 
Here  the  Iowa  or  Illinois  or  Nebraska  farmer  has  no 
new  business  to  learn.  He  can  at  once  start  in 
raising  hogs  and  cattle,  wheat,  hay  and  garden 
truck,  and  make  the  farm  pay  from  the  start  — 
gradually  working  into  fruit,  as  a  side  issue  or  the 
main  support,  at  his  convenience. 

SAN  FRANCISCO. 

The  bay  of  San  Francisco  is  almost  completely 
encircled  by  land!  The  Golden  Gate  is  the  tide- 
way, a  narrow  passage  between  the  extremities  of 
two  peninsulas,  upon  the  point  of  the  southern- 
most of  which  the  city  stands. 

Here,  too,  the  Franciscan  mission-builders  were 
first  upon  the  field,  and  the  present  name  is  a  cur- 
tailment of  Mission  de  los  Dolores  de  Nuestro  Padre 
San  Francisco  de  Asis,  an  appellation  commemora- 
tive of  the  sorrows  of  the  originator  of  the  order. 
The  Mission  Dolores,  founded  in  1776,  is  still  pre- 
served with  its  little  campo  santo  of  the  dead,  a  poor, 
unsightly,  strangled  thing,  structurally  unimposing 
and  wholly  wanting  in  the  poetic  atmosphere  of 
semi-solitude  that  envelopes  the  missions  of  South- 
ern California.  A  modern  cathedral  overshadows 
it,  and  shops  and  dwellings  jostle  it.  So  nearly,  in 
forty  years,  has  all  trace  of  the  preceding  three- 
quarters  of  a  century  been  obliterated.  Changed 
170 


from  a  Spanish  to  a  Mexican 
province  early  in  the  century, 
then  promptly  stripped  of  the 
treasures  that  had  been  accu-  r 
mulated  by  monkish  administra- 
tion, and  subsequently  ceded 
to  the  United  States,  California 
had  on  the  whole  a  dreamy,  quiet  life  until  that 
famous  nugget  was  found  in  1848.  Then 
followed  the  era  of  the  Argonauts,  seekers  of 
the  golden  fleece,  who  flocked  by  the  thousand 
from  Eastern  towns  and  cities  by  way  of  the  plains, 
the  Isthmus  and  the  Cape  to  dig  in  the  gravel- 
beds  ;  lawless  adventurers  in  their  train.  San 
Francisco  practically  dates  from  that  period. 
Its  story  is  a  wild  one,  a  working-out  of  order 
and  stable  commercial  prosperity  through  chapters 
that  treat  of  feverish  gold-crazy  mobs,  of  rapine 
grappled  by  the  vigilance  committee,  of  insurrection 
crushed  by  military  force.  And  in  this  prosperity, 
oddly  enough,  the  production  of  gold  has  been 
superseded  in  importance  by  other  resources ;  for 
although  California  annually  yields  more  precious 
metal  than  any  other  State,  the  yearly  value  of  its 
marketed  cattle, wool,  cereals,  roots,  fruits,  sugar  and 
wines  is  twice  as  great,  and  forms  the  real  com- 
mercial basis  of  the  great  city  of  the  Pacific  coast. 
As  if  it  were  fearful  of  being  hid,  it  is  set  upon 


not  one  but  a  score  of  hills,  overlooking  land  and 
sea.  As  you  near  it,  by  way  of  Point  Richmond, 
you  will  be  dull,  indeed,  if  your  pulses  are  not  stirred 
in  anticipation  of  viewing  one  of  the  really  great 
cities  of  the  world. 

The  traveler  steps  from  the  train  at  Point  Rich- 
mond or  Oakland  and  soon  is  out  on  the  bosom  of 
the  bay — San  Francisco  Bay;  one  of  the  finest 
harbors  in  all  the  world. 

Few  bays  are  more  picturesque ;  none  better 
suited  to  the  purposes  of  commerce.  Crossing 
on  the  fine  Santa  Fe  ferry-boat  (on  which  de- 
licious meals  are  served)  and  leaving  the  dock 
at  Point  Richmond,  San  Francisco  Bay  proper 
extends  far  beyond  the  limits  of  vision  southward. 
To  the  north  are  other  portions  of  the  same  bay, 
though  carrying  distinctive  names.  At  the  head  of 
San  Pablo  Bay  is  Mare  Island,  with  Uncle  Sam's 
big  navy  yard.  Mount  Diablo  seems  to  rise  close 
upon  the  Suisun  shore,  while  from  Point  Rich- 
mond, and  during  the  run  to  San  Francisco,  can 
be  seen  upon  the  right  the  sharp  peak  of  Mount 
Tamalpais,  which  looks  beyond  across  the  wide 
Pacific. 

When  the  first  burst  of  delight  at  the  wondrous 
panorama  has  settled  into  a  calmer  satisfaction,  the 
traveler  will  begin  to  pick  out  and  enquire  c<fn- 
cerning  the  various  points  of  interest.  Off  to  the 
right,  which  is  here  the  west,  is  a  lofty  red  island, 
and  beyond,  on  the  shore,  a  grim  cluster  of  red  and 


Music  Stand, 
Golden  Gate  Park. 


gray  buildings.  The  cluster  of  foreboding  build- 
ings is  the  State  Prison  on  Point  San  Quentin. 

Angel  Island,  on  the  south  of  Raccoon  Straits, 
is,  like  all  the  islands  of  the  bay,  government  prop- 
erty. Just  around  the  first  headland  is  Hospital 
Cove,  and  there  is  located  the  United  States  Quar- 
antine Station.  The  island  itself  is  one-and-a-half 
miles  long,  its  crest  rises  760  feet  from  the  bay, 
and  its  area  is  about  600  acres. 

Looking  back  toward  the  bay  shore  on  the  left, 
the  island  between  Point  Richmond  and  the  main- 
land carries  the  pastoral  title  of  Sheep  Island. 
The  Government  puts  it  to  no  use.  On  the  shore 
beyond,  the  various  building  clusters  generally  mean 
powder  works,  where  dynamite  and  other  high 
explosives  are  manufactured  for  use  in  mines. 

The  eye,  now  sweeping  to  the  southward,  soon 
catches  evidences  of  urban  life.  This  is  Berkeley, 
and  against  the  shoulder  of  the  hills,  which  mark 
its  boundary,  may  be  seen  the  buildings  of  the  great 
State  University.  The  present  buildings  are  looked 
upon  as  makeshifts  and  are  soon  to  give  place  to 
far  more  adequate  and  imposing  structures  to  be 
erected  on  the  magnificent  plans  of  M.  Bernard, 
of  Paris.  The  buildings  of  the  State  Institute  for 
the  Deaf,  Dumb  and  Blind  —  one  of  the  finest 
schools  of  its  kind  in  any  country  —  are  just  south 
of  the  University. 

Across  San  Antonio  estuary,  which  the  work  of 
the  Federal  Government  has  converted  into  Oak- 
land Harbor,  the  city  of  Alameda  peeps  from  its 
173 


clustered  oaks.  A  little  closer  on  the  view  looms 
the  island  which  the  Spaniards  called  Yerba  Buena, 
but  to  which  the  more  prosaic  Anglo-Saxons  have 
given  the  name  Goat.  On  this  the  Government 
has  a  torpedo-supply  station  for  the  war-ships,  a 
depot  for  the  buoys  and  supplies  of  the  light-house 
tenders,  and  a  new  Naval  Training  School,  where 
American  lads  are  to  be  taught  how  to  defend  the 
country's  honor  upon  the  sea. 

But  there  is  a  whiff  of  a  fresh  salt  breeze  as  the 
boat  passes  beyond  the  southerly  point  of  Angel 
Island,  and  all  travelers  will  turn  to  the  right  again 
to  get  the  first  view  of  the  Golden  Gate. 

Here,  indeed,  is  fascinating  beauty.  The  broad 
bay  narrows  to  the  width  of  a  mile  —  the  Golden 
Gate  proper  —  and  through  this  narrow  passage  ebb 
and  flow  the  mighty  tides.  Some  resistless  forces 
of  old  earth's  agony  seem  to  have  rent  the  big  hills 
to  make  this  way  for  commerce.  On  the  north 
the  bluffs  rise  sheer  and  frowning.  From  their 
tops  may  be  seen  the  guns  of  a  heavy  battery,  of 
12-inch  rifles  —  473  feet  above  the  sea  level  — 
the  highest  heavy  gun  battery  in  the  world. 
General  Nelson  A.  Miles  calls  it  the  Gibraltar  of 
America. 

Inside  the  Gate  are  attractions  for  the  nearer 
view.  In  mid-channel  the  fortified  island  of  Alca- 
traz  rears  itself  140  feet  above  low  water.  Here  is 
the  military  prison  and  an  artillery  post,  with  a 
torpedo  station  and  a  light  that  can  be  seen  for 
nineteen  miles  out  at  sea. 


But  now  the  eye  begins  to  be  engaged  with  the 
view  of  the  city  of  San  Francisco  itself  —  a  city 
of  400,000  inhabitants,  cosmopolitanly  planned,  a 
shifting  concourse  of  strange  peoples  and  stranger 
trades  —  odors  unknown  and  unfamiliar  tongues,  a 
medley  of  the  stories  of  the  world.  It  appears  to 
be  built  in  terraced  rows  rising  steeply  from  the 
water-front ;  but  that  is  a  bit  of  foreshortening.  It 
is  still  rather  motley  in  architecture.  Low  frame 
buildings  were  at  first  the  rule,  partly  because  they 
were  sufficient  to  the  climate  and  partly  in  defer- 
ence to  traditions  of  earthquake ;  but  at  length 
builders  ventured  taller  structures,  of  brick  and 
stone,  and  now  every  year  many  lofty,  elegant 
buildings  are  added.  Certainly  no  one  of  them  has 
been  shaken  down  as  yet,  and  possibly  the  archi- 
tects have  authority  for  believing  that  even  Vulcan 
is  superannuated  and  in  his  second  childhood  is 
appeased  with  a  rattle. 

It  is  a  city  of  fair  aspect  —  in  one  direction  undu- 
lating from  the  water's  edge,  in  another  rising 
abruptly  to  the  precipitous  heights  of  Telegraph 
Hill. 

San  Francisco's  topography  is  such  as  to  display, 
from  each  of  half  a  hundred  vantage  points,  some 
new  phases.  Then,  too,  most  of  the  treasures  are 
gathered  and  placed  for  the  visitor  rather  than  for  the 
selfish  pleasure  of.its  own  citizens.  In  the  magnificent 
union  ferry  depot  (owned  by  the  State  of  Califor- 
nia) at  the  gates  of  the  city,  is  housed  the  splendid 
collection  of  the  State  Mining  Bureau  and  State 
'75 


Board  of  Trade  and  the  exhibit  of  curies  of 
the  Alaska  Commercial  Company,  now  owned 
by  the  State  University.  Another  interesting 
treasure  house  is  that  of  the  Academy  of 
Sciences  on  Market  street.  The  rooms  of 
':  the  Pioneer  Society,  the  Hopkins  Art  Gallery, 
and  the  Museum  in  Golden  Gate  Park  are 
also  notable. 

Golden  Gate  Park  is  impossible  of  duplication. 
It  is  beyond  compare.  This  is  due  first  to  climatic 
conditions,  second  to  its  topography.  Beautiful 
shrubbery,  abundant  bloom,  varied  landscapes  and 
artistic  statuary  are  here.  Wide  stretches  of  grassy 
plain  are  succeeded  by  beautiful  eminences,  at  the 
feet  of  which  are  on  one  hand  placid  lakes,  on  the 
other  the  glinting  waves  of  the  Pacific.  From  the 
Cliff  House,  on  its  sunset  edge,  may  be  seen  bare 
rocks  wave-washed,  where  a  colony  of  seals  warm 
themselves  in  the  kindly  sunshine  after  a  frolic  in 
the  salt  sea. 

San  Francisco  is  well  equipped  to  care  for  the 
hurried  stranger  of  a  day,  or  the  visitor  whose  stay 
lasts  indefinitely.  There  are  a  dozen  first-class 
hotels  and  an  army  of  fashionable  boarding-houses, 
furnished  flats,  and  restaurants.  These  restaurants, 
of  which  the  city  is  justly  proud,  occur  nearly  every 
block  —  American,  English,  Italian,  French,  Ger- 
man, Japanese,  Mexican,  Austrian,  Swiss,  Swedish, 
Russian  and  Chinese  —  a  variety  of  which  one 
never  tires.  The  play  is  popular  here,  nightly 
the  theaters  are  filled  —  on  their  stages  have 
176 


appeared  the  world's  greatest  artists.  The  world 
of  clubdom  is  exemplified  by  clubs  like  the  Bohe- 
mian, University,  Cosmos,  Union  League,  Mer- 
chants, Concordia,  San  Francisco  and  Olympic. 
Here  weighty  affairs  of  business,  state  and  society 
are  discussed  in  luxurious  privacy,  by  representative 
citizens.  In  the  matter  of  newspapers,  'Frisco  is 
wholly  metropolitan.  Not  only  do  they  print 
news  but  they  mould  public  opinion,  and  daily 
advertise  California  resources  to  the  outer  world. 

Overlooking  the  sands  and  the  seal-rocks  from  a 
considerable  bluff  is  the  Cliff  House  resort,  and 
towering  above  that  is  the  magnificent  sky-battle- 
ment known  as  Sutro  Heights  —  a  private  property 
open  to  the  public,  and  embellished  by  landscape 
gardens  and  statuary.  Other  sights  and  scenes  are 
the  largest  mint  in  the  world,  not  a  few  magnifi- 
cent public  buildings,  innumerable  phases  of  active 
commerce,  and  the  contrasting  life  of  races  repre- 
senting nearly  every  nation  of  the  world. 


Cliff  House. 


CHINATOWN. 

Chinatown,  of  course,  one  must  see.  Squalid  in 
the  day  and  overcast  by  an  oriental  mystic  glamour 
in  the  night;  busy  at  all  hours,  but  in  the  eastern 
fashion  of  business ;  foreign  to  the  soil  on  which  it 
stands,  but  protected  by  alien  thousands ;  babbling 
the  cynical  scorn  of  the  East,  or  silent  as  the 
Sphinx  —  ever  wise  and  wicked  and  wondrous  — 
it  mocks  us  from  its  imperturbable  mystery. 

A  few  steps  from  your  hotel,  at  the  turn  of  a 
corner,  you  come  at  once  upon  the  city  of  the 
Chinese.  It  is  night,  and  under  the  soft  glow  of 
paper  lanterns  and  through  the  gloom  of  unlighted 
alleys,  weaves  an  oriental  throng.  Policemen 
doubtless  stand  upon  a  corner  here  and  there,  and 
small  parties  of  tourists  pick  their  way  under  lead 
of  professional  guides ;  the  remaining  thousands 
are  Celestials  all.  The  scene  is  of  the  Chinaman 
at  home,  very  John,  restored  to  authenticity  of 
type  by  the  countenance  of  numbers ;  and  so  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  you  become  a  foreigner  in 
your  own  land,  a  tolerated  guest  in  a  fantastic 
realm  whose  chief  apparent  hold  upon  reality  is  its 
substratum  of  genuine  wickedness.  It  is  a  gro- 
tesque jumble,  a  panopticon  of  peepshows  ;  women 
shoemakers  huddled  in  diminutive  rooms ;  barbers 
with  marvelous  tackle  shaving  heads  and  chins, 
and  cleaning  ears  and  eye-balls,  while  their  patrons 
sit  in  the  constrained  attitude  of  a  victim,  meekly 
holding  the  tray ;  clerks,  armed  with  a  long  pointed 
178 


stick  dipped  in  ink,  soberly  making  pictures  of 
variant  spiders  in  perpendicular  rows ;  apothecaries 
expounding  the  medicinal  virtues  of  desiccated 
toad  and  snake  ;  goldworkers  making  bracelets  of 
the  precious  metal  to  be  welded  about  the  arm  of 
him  who  dares  not  trust  his  hoard  to  another's 
keep ;  restaurateurs  serving  really  palatable  con- 
serves, with  pots  of  delectable  tea ;  shopkeepers 
vending  strange  foreign  fruits  and  dubious  edibles 
plucked  from  the  depths  of  nightmare  ;  merchants 
displaying  infinitude  of  curious  trinkets  and  elabo- 
rate costly  wares ;  worshipers  and  readers  of  the 
book  of  fate  in  rich  temples  niched  with  uncouth 
deities ;  conventional  actors  playing  interminable 
histrionics  to  respectful  and  appreciative  auditors ; 
gamblers  stoically  venturing  desperate  games  of 
chance  with  cards  and  dominoes  ;  opium  smokers 
stretched  upon  their  bunks  in  a  hot  atmosphere 
heavy  with  sickening  fumes ;  lepers  dependent 
upon  occasional  alms  flung  by  a  hand  that  avoids 
the  contamination  of  contact ;  female  chattels,  still 
fair  and  innocent  of  face  despite  unutterable 
wrongs,  yet  no  whit  above  the  level  of  their  deep 
damnation  —  such  is  the  Chinatown  one  brings 
away  in  lasting  memory  after  three  hours  of  peer- 
ing, entering,  ascending,  descending,  crossing  and 
delving.  A  very  orderly  and  quiet  community, 
withal,  for  the  Mongolian  is  not  commonly  an 
obstreperous  individual,  and  his  vices  are  not  of  the 
kind  that  inflame  to  deeds  of  violence.  He  knows 
no  more  convivial  bowl  than  a  cup  of  tea.  If  he 
179 


A  STREET  IN  CHINATOWN. 


quits  the  gaming-table  penniless,  it  is  with  a  smile 
of  patient  melancholy.  And  his  dens  of  deepest 
horror  are  silent  as  enchanted  halls. 

All  except  its  innermost  domestic  life  may  be 
inspected  by  the  curious.  The  guides  are  discreet, 
and  do  not  include  the  lowest  spectacles  except 
upon  request,  although  it  is  equally  true  that  very 
many  visitors,  regarding  the  entire  experience  as 
one  of  the  conventional  sights  of  travel,  go  fortified 
with  especial  hardihood  and  release  their  conductor 
from  considerations  of  delicacy. 

The  joss-houses,  or  temples,  are  hung  with  pon- 
derous gilded  carvings,  with  costly  draperies  and 
rich  machinery  of  worship.  The  deities  are  fearful 
conceptions,  ferocious  of  countenance,  bristling 
with  hair  and  decked  with  tinseled  robes.  A  tiny 
vestal-flame  burns  dimly  in  a  corner,  and  near  it 
stands  a  huge  gong.  An  attendant  strikes  this 
gong  vociferously  to  arouse  the  god,  and  then 
prostrates  himself  before  the  altar,  making  three 
salaams.  A  couple  of  short  billets,  half-round,  are 
then  tossed  into  the  air  to  bode  good  or  ill  luck  to 
you  according  as  they  fall  upon  the  one  or  the 
other  side.  A  good  augury  having  been  secured 
by  dint  of  persistent  tossing,  a  quiverful  of  joss- 
sticks  is  next  taken  in  hand  and  dexterously  shaken 
until  three  have  fallen  to  the  floor.  The  sticks 
are  numbered,  and  correspond  to  paragraphs  in  a 
fate  book  that  is  next  resorted  to,  and  you  are  ulti- 
mately informed  that  you  will  live  for  forty  years' 
to  come,  that  you  will  marry  within  two  years, 


and,  if  your  sex  and  air  seem  to  countenance  such 
a  venture,  that  you  will  shortly  make  enormous 
winnings  at  poker.  Whatever  of  genuine  solem- 
nity may  cloak  the  Heathen  Chinee  in  his  own 
relation  to  his  bewhiskered  deities,  he  undoubtedly 
tips  the  wink  to  them  when  the  temple  is  invaded 
by  itinerant  sight-seers.  The  smooth,  spectacled 
interpreter  of  destinies  pays  $5,000  a  year  for  the 
privilege  of  purveying  such  mummeries,  and  hardly 
can  the  Heathen  Chinee  himself  repress  a  twinkle 
of  humor  at  the  termination  of  a  scene  in  which 
he  so  easily  comes  off  best,  having  fairly  outdone 
his  Caucasian  critic  in  cynicism,  and  for  a  price. 

In  the  theater  he  will  be  found,  perhaps  contrary 
to  expectation,  to  take  a  serious  view  of  art.  You 
are  conducted  by  a  tortuous  underground  passage  of 
successive  step-ladders  and  narrow  ways,  past  innu- 
merable bunk-rooms  of  opium-smokers,  to  the  stage 
itself,  where  your  entrance  creates  no  disturbance. 
The  Chinese  stage  is  peculiar  in  that  while 
the  actors  are  outnumbered  ten  to  one  by 
supernumeraries,  musicians  and  Caucasian  visitors, 
they  monopolize  the  intellectual  recognition  of  the 
audience.  The  men  who,  hat  on  head,  pack  the 
pit,  and  the  women  who  throng  the  two  galleries, 
divided  into  respectable  and  unrespectable 
by  a  rigid  meridian,  have  been  educated 
to  a  view  of  the  drama  which  is  hardly 
to  be  ridiculed  by  nations  that  admit  the 
concert  and  the  oratorio.  The  Chinese 
simply  need  less  ocular  illusion  than  we  in 
182 


the  theater,  and  perhaps  those  of  us  who 
are  "familiar  with  the  grotesque  devices 
by  which  our  own  stage-veneer  is  wrought 
perform  no  less  an  intellectual  feat  than 
they.  Their  actors  are  indeed  richly  cos- 
tumed, and  women  not  being  permitted 
upon  the  stage,  the  youths  who  play  female 
roles  are  carefully  made  up  for  their  parts  ; 
and  one  and  all  they  endeavor  to  imper- 
sonate. Almost  no  other  illusion  is  con- 
sidered  necessary.  The  stage  manager  and 
his  assistants  now  and  then  erect  a  small 
background  suggestive  of  environment,  and 
the  province  of  the  orchestra  is  to  accen- 
tuate  emotion  —  in  which  heaven  knows 
they  attain  no  small  degree  of  success.  It  is  highly 
conventionalized  drama,  in  which  any  kind  of  in- 
congruity may  elbow  the  players  provided  it  does  not 
confuse  the  mind  by  actually  intervening  between 
them  and  the  audience.  The  plays  are  largely 
historical,  or  at  least  legendary,  and  vary  in 
length  from  six  or  eight  hours  to  a  serial  of  many 
consecutive  nights'  duration.  There  are  stars 
whose  celebrity  packs  the  house  to  the  limit  of 
standing-room,  and  there  are  the  same  strained 
silent  attention  and  quick  rippling  response  to 
witty  passages  that  mark  our  own  play-houses  ;  but 
such  demonstrative  applause  as  the  clapping  of 
hands  and  the  stamping  of  feet  is  unknown.  The 
Chinese  theater-goer  would  as  soon  think  of  so 
testifying  enjoyment  of  a  good  book  in  the  quiet  of 
183 


his  home.  But  as  for  the  orchestra,  let  some 
other  write  its  justification.  Such  a  banging  of 
cymbals,  and  hammering  of  gongs,  and  monoto- 
nous squealing  of  stringed  instruments  in  unre- 
memberable  minor  intervals  almost  transcends 
belief.  Without  visible  leader,  and  unmarked  by 
any  discoverable  rhythm,  it  is  nevertheless  character- 
ized by  unanimity  of  attack  and  termination,  as 
well  as  enthusiasm  of  execution,  and  historians  of 
music  are  authority  for  the  statement  that  it  is 
based  upon  an  established  scale  and  a  scientific 
theory.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  a  thing  of  terror 
first  to  greet  the  ear  on  approach,  last  to  quit  it  in 
departure,  and  may  be  counted  upon  for  visitation 
in  dreams  that  follow  indigestion. 

The  secret  society  known  as  the  Highbinders 
was  created  two  and  a  half  centuries  ago  in  China 
by  a  band  of  devoted  patriots,  and  had  degenerated 
into  an  organization  employed  to  further  the 
ends  of  avarice  and  revenge  long  before  it  was 
transplanted  to  this  country.  Relieved  of  the  espi- 
onage that  had  in  some  measure  controlled  it  at 
home,  and  easily  able  to  evade  a  police  unfamiliar 
with  the  Chinese  tongue,  it  grew  in  numbers  and 
power  with  great  rapidity.  The  greater  portion  of 
the  people  of  Chinatown  has  always  been  honestly 
industrious  and  law-abiding,  but  the  society 
rewarded  hostility  by  persecution,  ruin,  and  often 
death.  Merchants  were  laid  under  tribute,  and 
every  form  of  industry  in  the  community  that  was 
not  directly  protected  by  membership  in  the  society 
184 


was  compelled  to  yield  its  quota  of  revenue.  Vice 
was  fostered,  and  courts  of  law  were  so  corrupted 
by  intimidation  or  bribery  of  witnesses  that  it  was 
next  to  impossible  to  convict  a  Highbinder  of  any 
criminal  offense.  A  climax  of  terror  was  reached 
that  at  last  convulsed  the  environing  city,  and  by 
the  pure  effrontery  of  autocratic  power  the  society 
itself  precipitated  its  downfall.  A  peremptory  word 
was  given  to  the  police,  and  a  scene  ensued  which 
the  astonished  Celestials  were  forced  to  accept  as 
a  practical  termination  of  their  bloody  drama. 
The  Highbinders  were  scattered,  many  imprisoned 
or  executed,  innumerable  dives  emptied,  secret 
council-rooms  stripped  bare,  and  the  society  in 
effect  undone.  Yet  still,  for  one  who  has  viewed 
the  lowest  depths  of  the  Chinatown  of  to-day,  the 
name  will  long  revive  an  uncherished  memory  of 
two  typical  faces,  outlined  upon  a  background  of 
nether  flame.  One  is  the  face  of  a  young  woman 
who,  in  a  cell  far  underground,  leans  against  a 
high  couch  in  a  manner  half-wanton,  half-indiffer- 
ent, and  chants  an  unintelligible  barbaric  strain. 
The  other  is  that  of  her  owner,  needing  only  a 
hangman's  knot  beneath  the  ear  to  complete  a 


wholly  satisfactory  presentment  of  irredeemable 
depravity.  And  that  is  why  one  quits  the  endless 
novelties  of  the  peepshow  without  regret,  and 
draws  a  breath  of  relief  upon  regaining  the  familiar 
streets  of  civilization. 

SUBURBAN  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

Suburban  San  Francisco  embraces  much  of  inter- 
est. The  bay  shore  cities  of  Berkeley,  Oakland 
and  Alameda  (housing  a  population  one-third  as 
great  as  San  Francisco  proper),  are  in  turn  neigh- 
bored by  pretty  suburbs.  On  the  heights  above 
Oakland  is  the  home  of  Joaquin  Miller,  farther 
south  Mills  College,  delightfully  environed,  and 
several  charming  picnic  parks — among  them  Pied- 
mont Springs  and  Leona  Heights. 

On  the  Marin  County  shore,  beyond  the  Golden 
Gate,  are  Sausalito  and  Mill  Valley,  through  which 
a  winding  scenic  railway  is  built  to  the  half-mile 
high  summit  of  Mount  Tamalpais,  from  whence 
one  may  view  the  entire  bay  region.  The  trip  is 
similar  to  the  climb  up  Mount  Lowe,  near  Los 
Angeles.  Farther  inland  is  the  charming  residence 
suburb  of  San  Rafael. 

To  the  south,  along  the  peninsula,  one  comes 
upon  the  homes  of  some  of  California's  million- 
aires, at  Burlingame,  of  polo  repute,  Milbrae,  and 
San  Mateo,  while  below  the  junction  of  San  Fran- 
cisco's peninsula  with  the  mainland  the  Santa 
Clara  Valley  stretches  southward  between  the  coast 
and  Santa  Cruz  ranges.  Along  this  valley  lies  the 
186 


way  to  San  Jose  and  the  coast  resorts  of  Santa 
Cruz  and  Monterey,  with  intermediate  points  of 
celebrity. 

Palo  Alto  is  the  site  of  the  Stanford  University, 
where,  in  a  campus  of  8,000  acres,  an  arboretum 
to  which  every  clime  has  liberally  contributed, 
stands  this  magnificent  memorial  of  a  cherished 
son.  The  buildings  are  conceived  in  the  style  of 
mission  architecture  —  low  structures  connected 
by  an  arcade  surrounding  an  immense  inner  court, 
with  plain,  thick  walls,  arches  and  columns,  built 
of  buff  sandstone  and  roofed  with  red  tiles.  Richly 
endowed,  this  university  is  broadly  and  ambitiously 
planned,  and  is  open  to  both  sexes  in  all  depart- 
ments. 

Hard  by,  at  Menlo  Park,  is  the  Stanford  horse 
breeding  and  training  establishment,  where  hun- 
dreds of  thoroughbreds  are  carefully  tended  in 
paddock  and  stable,  and  daily  trained.  Even  one 
who  is  not  a  lover  of  horses,  if  such  a  person  exists, 
can  not  fail  to  find  entertainment  here,  where  daily 
every  phase  of  equine  training  is  exhibited,  from  the 
kindergarten,  where  toddling  colts  are  taught  the 
habit  of  the  track,  to  the  open  course,  where 
famous  racers  are  speeded. 

A  PACIFIC  TOUR. 

Along  the  great  San  Francisco  water  front,  with 
its  masts   and   spars,  flapping  sails   and  ship  chan- 
dlery stores,  the  very  spirit  of  roving  and  adventure 
187 


is  in  the  air.  A  stroll  here  will  impress  the  visitor 
with  the  city's  present  commercial  greatness  and 
its  wonderful  future  possibilities.  The  dream  that 
along  San  Francisco  Bay  will  be  built  a  world-city 
bids  fair  to  become  a  reality.  Here  one  may 
observe  the  big  four-masters,  laden  with  wheat 
brought  around  Cape  Horn.  A  rakish  brig  unloads 
a  cargo  of  copra  and  sandalwood,  which  tells  of  the 
scented  groves  of  south  Pacific  islands.  Over  yon- 
der are  big  bunkers,  with  sooty  workmen  and  busy 
engines,  straining  at  coal  buckets.  Farther  on  is  a 
party  of  gold-seekers,  bound  for  the  Alaskan  fields. 
Other  steamers  are  taking  on  passengers  and 
freight  for  lower  California,  Panama  and  Mexico,  or 
for  the  far-off  countries  of  the  Orient.  Japanese, 
Chinese  and  Koreans  mingle  with  the  throng. 
A  patriotic  bit  of  color  is  displayed  where  soldiers 
just  back  from  the  Philippines  are  disembarking. 
And  when  evening  comes  on  the  deep-sea  chants 
rise  above  the  city's  roar  as  anchors  are  lifted. 
One  then  keenly  feels  the  call  of  the  sea.  The 
genius  of  Stevenson  has  woven  a  halo  of  romance 
over  these  semi-tropical  seas  that  woos  the  traveler 
with  well  nigh  irresistible  charm.  As  you  look 
westward  out  of  the  nation's  front  door  from  the 
Cliff  House  headland  height,  it  would  be  strange, 
indeed,  if  you  were  not  seized  with  a  longing  to 
set  sail. 

Where  will  you  go  —  since  go  you  must  ? 

To  Hawaii  ?  Magical  isles,  wreathed  in  flowers 
and  laved  by  flashing  summer  seas ;  land  of  banana 
iS8 


plantations,  cane  and  rice  fields ;  land  of  roaring 
volcanoes  and  verdant  plains.  ' 

To  Samoa  ?  Coral  shores  under  the  stars  and 
stripes ;  happy  natives,  cocoanut  palms  and  deli- 
cious tropical  fruit,  transparent  seas  and  beautiful 
shells. 

To  Tahiti  ?  Riotous  vegetation,  the  supple 
bamboo,  broad-leaved  banana  and  lance-leaved 
mango  ;  an  out-of-doors  country,  where  houses  are 
used  only  to  sleep  in. 

To  New  Zealand  ?  Newest  England,  as  it  has 
been  fittingly  called ;  half  round  the  world,  but 
nearer  than  many  of  you  have  thought ;  the  famous 
west  coast  sounds,  rivaling  the  fiords  of  Norway. 

To  Australia  ?  A  partly  explored  continent  of 
vast  and  varied  resources  ;  wonderful  cities,  strange 
races,  and  strange  flora  and  fauna,  kangaroos  and 
paroquets,  cockatoos  and  pouched  bears. 

Which  one,  or  all  of  them  ? 

It  can  not  be  decided  for  you  here.  Indeed,  the 
purpose  of  these  brief  pages  is  only  suggestive,  to 
point  the  way  and  tell  you  of  the  excellent  facilities 
for  travel.  Other  publications  will  tell  you  more  in 
detail  of  the  attractions,  and  they  may  be  had  for 
the  asking  from  agents  of  the  Santa  Fe.  One 
rare  trip  outlined  therein  is  around  the  world  via 
San  Francisco,  Hawaii,  Samoa,  New  Zealand,  Aus- 
tralian ports,  India,  Suez,  the  Mediterranean, 
Continental  Europe,  England,  Atlantic  liners,  and 
United  States  railways. 

Commerce,  politics  and  travel  have  joined  tc 
189 


justify  the  superb  fleet  of  steamships  maintained 
by  the  American  and  Australian  (Oceanic  Steam- 
ship) Line,  which  are  in  service  between  San 
Francisco  and  Honolulu,  between  San  Francisco, 
New  Zealand  and  Australia,  and  between  San 
Francisco  and  Tahiti.  The  boats  used  favorably 
compare  with  the  finest  Atlantic  steamers.  They 
are  of  6,000  tons  burden,  with  twin  screws,  the 
fastest,  largest,  and  most  luxurious  steamers  in  the 
Pacific  trade.  Their  two  sets  of  triple-expansion 
engines  develop  power  which  makes  possible  a 
speed  of  more  than  seventeen  knots  an  hour.  They 
are  of  the  latest  type,  Tiaving  double  bottoms  on  the 
cellular  system,  water-tight  compartments,  electric 
lights,  commodious  deck  space,  ice  machinery, 
dining  saloon  on  upper  deck,  and  other  modern 
conveniences.  These  ships  are  specially  fitted  for 
tropical  voyaging,  with  abundance  of  good  things 
to  eat  and  drink,  large  and  well-ventilated  cabins, 
and  service  that  will  please  the  most  exacting. 
Luxurious  steamers  of  the  Pacific  Mail,  Occi- 
dental &  Oriental  and  Toyo  Kisen  Kaisha  lines 
may  be  taken  from  San  Francisco  on  a  straight- 
away cruise  to  Yokohama,  and  thence  to  Hong- 
Kong.  By  this  route  both  China  and  Japan  may 
be  visited,  including  a  run  down  to  our  new  pos- 
sessions in  the  Philippines.  Or  these  three  inter- 
esting oriental  lands  may  be  reached  as  a  side  tour 
from  Australia.  The  service  is  all  that  could  be 
desired,  the  steamers  all  being  swift,  commodious 
and  seaworthy. 


COAST  LINE  TO  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

The  coast  route  northward  from  Los  Angeles 
by  rail  has  many  notable  attractions,  chief  of  which 
are  Santa  Barbara  (page  157),  San  Jose  and 
Monterey.  The  two  last  named  may  be  conve- 
niently visited  by  a  short  ride  from  San  Francisco 
and  the  first  from  Los  Angeles. 

The  traveler  who  elects  to  follow  the  coast  in 
his  journey  to  the  Golden  Gate  will  be  taken 
northward  through  a  somewhat  arid  section,  then 
west  to  the  sea  at  San  Buena  Ventura.  On  the 
way  San  Fernando  (near  which  are  the  ruins  of 
the  San  Fernando  Mission)  is  passed  and  a  consid- 
erable oil  district  in  the  vicinity  of  Newhall  and 
Santa  Paula. 

At  San  Buena  Ventura  is  another  mission  estab- 
lishment surrounded  by  luxuriant  orchards  of 
deciduous  fruits  and  vast  bean  fields,  the  product 
of  which  reaches  the  far-away  "Hub"  on  the 
Atlantic. 

Beyond  San  Buena  Ventura  the  winding  coast 
line  is  closely  followed  for  a  hundred  miles  or  more 
to  and  through  Santa  Barbara,  until  crossing  the 
mountains  it  leads  down  into  the  Salinas  Valley,  a 
mountain-walled,  oak-dotted  park,  the  northern 
end  of  which  merges  in  the  far-famed  Santa  Clara 
Valley  of  the  north. 

From  the  gray-brown  bluffs  and  rounded  hills, 
for  the  hundred  or  so  miles  by  the  sea,  but  little 
191 


hint  is  given  of  the  fertile  interior ;  but  a  continu- 
ous marine  panorama  of  wave-washed  shore  is 
unfolded,  with  a  far-reaching  ocean  view  bounded 
by  the  Channel  Islands. 

Wayside  items  are  the  asphaltum  pits  and  ocean 
oil-wells  at  Summerland,  the  mammoth  eucalyptus 
trees  and  great  olive  orchards  at  Ellwood  in  the 
Goleta  Valley,  the  asphaltum  works  at  Alcatraz 
Landing,  and  the  mouth  of  historic  Gaviota  Pass. 
There  are  picturesque  ranch  houses  of  the  old 
days,  also  herds  of  grazing  cattle  and  sheep,  vast 
fields  of  grain  and  mustard  and  sugar  beets,  the 
largest  vegetable  and  flower  seed  farms  in  the 
world,  and  many  other  features,  each  adding  inter- 
est to  the  journey,  but  which  must  be  considered 
minor  attractions  where  so  much  is  worthy. 

San  Luis  Obispo  is  a  city  of  four  thousand  popu- 
lation, the  business  center  of  a  rich  valley.  The 
mountains  overshadow  it.  The  church  of  the  old 
mission  of  San  Luis  Obispo  is  here. 

Northward  from  San  Luis  a  climb  over  a  spur  of 
the  Santa  Lucia  Mountains,  with  numerous  curves 
in  the  track,  presents  from  the  car  window  a  bird's- 
eye  view  of  the  city  and  fertile  valley  in  which  it 
lies. 

Paso  Robles  (pass  of  the  oaks)  is  a  place  of 
wonderful  mineral  springs  with  a  fine  hotel  and 
bath  houses.  Not  far  away  is  Santa  Ysabel  ranch, 
and  Hot  Springs.  Salinas  is  a  town  of  growing 
importance.  Near  it  is  the  great  Spreckels  beet 
sugar  factory,  one  of  the  largest  in  the  world. 
192 


A  slight  divergence  from  the  main  line  at  Cas- 
troville  will  bring  you  to  Hotel  del  Monte  and  the 
famous  old  town  of  Monterey,  on  the  southern 
shore  of  Monterey  Bay. 

Monterey  was  the  old  capital  of  California  in  the 
earliest  period  of  Spanish  rule.  Here  the  forest 
crowds  upon  the  sea  and  mingles  its  odor  of  balm 
with  that  of  the  brine.  The  beach  that  divides 
them  is  broken  by  cliffs  where  the  cypress  finds 
footing  to  flaunt  its  rugged  boughs  above  the  spray 
of  the  waves,  and  in  the  gentle  air  of  a  perfect  cli- 
mate the  wild  flowers  hold  almost  perpetual  carni- 
val. Upon  such  a  foundation  the  Hotel  del 
Monte,  with  its  vast  parks  of  lawn  and  garden  and 
driveway,  covering  many  hundred  acres,  is  set,  all 
its  magnificence  lending  really  less  than  it  owes 
to  the  infinite  charm  of  Monterey.  Its  fame  has 
spread  through  every  civilized  land,  and  European 
as  well  as  American  visitors  make  up  its  throng. 
The  del  Monte  is  located  in  a  scattering  grove  of 
200  acres,  a  little  east  from  the  town,  and  for  lav- 
ishness  of  luxury  and  splendor  in  construction  and 
accessory  has  perhaps  no  superior.  The  specific 
points  of  interest  are  Carmel  Mission,  Pacific  Grove, 
Moss  Beach,  Seal  Rocks,  and  Cypress  Point. 

The  pretty  city  of  Santa  Cruz  at  the  northern 
end  of  Monterey  Bay  is  reached  from  Del  Monte 
by  a  railway  along  the  shore.  It  is  also  reached 
direct  from  San  Francisco  by  a  line  crossing  the 
beautiful  Santa  Cruz  Mountains  and  passing 
through  the  big  trees  (Sequoia  semper  virens). 
193 


It  is  San  Francisco's  most  popular  seaside  resort 
as  well  as  a  notable  summering  and  wintering 
place  for  many  eastern  people.  There  are  good 
hotels  and  ample  facilities  for  enjoying  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  sea. 

An  interesting  industry  of  the  place  is  the  exca- 
vation of  asphalt  from  a  small  mountain  of  the 
almost  pure  material. 

By  the  main  line  again  toward  San  Francisco 
from  Castroville  one  comes  upon  San  Jose,  the 
Garden  City,  at  the  junction  of  the  narrow  gauge 
line  to  Santa  Cruz.  The  appellation  Garden  City 
may  be  taken  literally,  for  besides  its  urban  beau- 
ties, it  lies  in  the  center  of  the  largest  compact 
orchard  area  in  the  world. 

Perhaps  there  is  not,  in  the  whole  of  Northern 
California,  a  town  more  attractively  environed.  It 
is  protected  by  mountain  walls  from  every  wander- 
ing asperity  of  land  or  sea,  a  clean,  regularly  plat- 
ted city,  reaching  off  through  avenues  of  pine  and 
of  eucalyptus,  and  through  orchards  and  vineyards, 
to  pretty  forest  slopes  where  roads  climb  past  rock, 
glen  and  rivulet  to  fair,  commanding  heights.  The 
immediate  neighborhood  is  the  center  of  prune 
production,  and  every  year  exports  great  quantities 
of  berries,  fruits  and  wines.  The  largest  seed- 
farms  and  the  largest  herd  of  short-horned  cattle 
in  the  world  are  here. 

Twenty-six  miles  east  from  San  Jose  is  Mount 
Hamilton,  upon  whose  summit  the  white  wall  of 
the  Lick  Observatory  is  plainly  visible  at  that-' 


distance.  This  observatory  has  already 
become  celebrated  for  the  discovery 
of  Jupiter's  fifth  satellite,  and  gives 
promise  of  affording  many  another 
astronomical  sensation  in  time  to  come.  Visitors 
are  permitted  to  look  through  the  great  telescope  one 
night  in  the  week,  and  in  the  intervals  a  smaller 
glass  sufficiently  powerful  to  yield  a  good  view  of 
the  planets  in  the  broad  sunlight  of  midday  is 
devoted  to  their  entertainment.  It  is  reached  by 
stage  from  San  Jose,  the  round  trip  being  made 
daily.  Aside  from  the  attraction  of  the  famous 
sky-glass,  supplemented  by  the  multitudinous  and 
elaborate  mechanisms  of  the  observatory,  the  ride 
through  the  mountains  to  Mount  Hamilton  more 
than  compensates  the  small  fatigue  of  the  journey. 
There  are  backward  glimpses  of  the  beautiful  val- 
ley, and  a  changing  panorama  of  the  Sierra,  the  road 
making  loops  and  turns  in  the  shadow  of  live-oaks 
on  the  brink  of  profound  craterlike  depressions. 

The  remainder  of  the  coast-line  trip  to  the 
Golden  Gate  has  already  received  brief  mention 
under  title  of  Suburban  San  Francisco. 


YOSEMITE  VALLEY. 

The  high  Sierras  have  been  termed  the  American 
Alps,  and  merit  the  appellation.  Here  are  snowy 
peaks  that  meet  the  sky  along  a  thousand  miles  of 


the  California  border,   and  crowning  all,   Mount 
Whitney,  the  loftiest  peak  in  the  United  States. 

There  are  in  this  Sierra  region  mighty  evergreen 
forests,  groves  of  the  greatest  and  grandest  trees  in 
the  world,  the  Canyons  of  Kings  and  Kern  Rivers, 
Lassen  Buttes,  the  Minarets,  and  numerous  other 
wonders.  Not  a  mile  of  the  gigantic  mountain 
ridge  but  is  replete  with  interest.  Among  them 
all,  however,  Yosemite  is  the  best  known  and  per- 
haps the  most  satisfying,  as  it  is  the  most  easily 
accessible.  It  lies  due  east  of  San  Francisco  at  an 
elevation  of  4,000  feet,  and  is  reached  from  Merced 
(a  prosperous  town  on  the  Santa  Fe  in  the  San 
Joaquin  Valley)  by  an  enjoyable  stage  ride  of  about 
ninety  miles.  To  be  sure  the  ride  is  somewhat 
arduous,  as  all  staging  necessarily  must  be,  but  the 
exhilaration  of  fine  scenery  and  bracing  mountain 
air  do  much  in  compensation.  The  way  is  by  Mer- 
ced Falls,  the  picturesque  old-time  mining  town  of 
Coulterville  and  the  Merced  Grove  of  Big  Trees. 

It  is  the  only  route  to  Yosemite  that  passes 
directly  through  the  big  tree  grove,  without 
divergence  or  side  trip.  The  monster  trees  are 
from  25  to  30  feet  in  diameter  at  base  and  are 
of  fabulous  age  —  quite  the  oldest  living  things 
on  earth's  crust. 

The   valley   is  reached  in    the  afternoon  of 
the  second  day,  and  does  not  disappoint. 

The  floor  is  a  parklike  tract  about  eight  miles 
long  by  half  a  mile  to  a  mile  wide.    The  Merced 
River  frolics  its  way  through  this  mountain  glade 
197 


and  around  it  rise  imperious  walls 
thousands  of  feet  high. 

As  you  enter,  mighty  El  Capitan 
rears  its  monumental  form  3,200 
feet  at  your  right.  It  is  a  solid 
mass  of  granite,  taller  than  the 
valley  is  wide  at  this  point  and 
presenting  two  perpendicular 
faces.  On  the  other  hand  Bridal 
Veil  Fall  is  flinging  cascades  of 
lacelike  delicacy  from  a  height  of 
950  feet,  and  in  the  far  distance 
you  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  famed 
Half  Dome,  Washington  Columns 
and  the  crests  of  the  highest  peaks 
in  the  range. 

The     road    leads     on     beyond 
Cathedral  Spires,  Three  Brothers 
and    Sentinel    Rock,    the    valley 
widens  and  Yosemite  Falls  appear, 
with  the  Sentinel  Hotel  and  the 
little  village  at  the  stage  terminus, 
midway  between  the  falls  and  Glacier  Point  opposite. 
Beyond  Glacier  Point  the  valley  angles  sharply, 
and  in  the  recess  thus  formed  Vernal,  Nevada,  and 
Illiloutte  Falls,  Liberty  Cap  and  Mount  Broderick 
are  located,  but  are  not  visible  from  the  hotel. 

Looking  east,  Half  Dome  presents  an  almost  per- 
pendicular wall;  at  its  base  is  Mirror  Lake,  and, 
opposite,   North  Dome  and  Washington   Arches. 
The    peak    of    Half    Dome    is    4,737    feet    above 
198 


Yosemite  Falls, 


the  valley  floor,  and   8,737   feet  above 
the   sea. 

The  accessibility  of  Yosemite  and 
the  comparative  ease  with  which  it  may 
be  explored,  add  greatly  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  visit.  The  hotel  is  well 
managed  and  the  charges  reasonable. 

There  are  excellent  public  camps 
here,  or  you  may  bring  your  own  outfit 
and  pitch  tent  almost  anywhere,  with 
reasonable  limitations.  There  are  tele- 
phone and  telegraph  facilities,  a  general 
store  and  a  postofEce  with  daily  mail. 
The  custodian  of  the  valley  resides  here.  The 
roads  and  trails  have  been  constructed  by  and  have 
heretofore  been  kept  in  repair  by  the  State.  Charges 
for  guides,  carriages,  saddle  animals,  etc.,  are  regu- 
lated by  a  commission,  and  there  are  no  tolls.  The 
entire  Yosemite  National  Park  is  now  under  control 
of  the  United  States  Government. 

You  may  visit  both  the  base  and  lip  of  Nevada 
Falls,  poise  in  mid-air  from  the  overhanging  rock 
at  Glacier  Point,  gaze  4,000  feet  below  from  a 
parapet  of  Three  Brothers  or  off  to  the  wilder- 
ness of  peaks  that  lose  themselves  in  the  sky  to  the 
eastward ;  or  you  may  pitch  pebbles  into  the  gush- 
ing torrent  of  Yosemite  Falls,  where  it  makes  its 
dizzy  leap  over  the  cliff. 


r 


The  glory  of  Yosemite  has  passed  into  litera- 
ture. It  lends  to  word-painting  as  do  but  few 
of  Nature's  masterpieces.  Yet  all  the  pens 
that  have  essayed  to  describe  it  can  have  con- 
veyed to  you  but  little  of  its  charm  unless 
you  have  visited  the  wonderful  valley.  Only  for 
those  who  have  seen  can  the  name  conjure  up 
visions  of  a  waterfall  of  filmy  tracery  that  bends 
and  sways  in  the  breeze,  of  a  gigantic  cliff  that 
stands  at  the  portal  a  colossal  greeting  and  fare- 
well, of  another  fall  whose  waters  plunge  from  a 
far  height  half  a  mile  above  you. 

It  were  idle  to  enumerate.  No  single  feature 
wins  admiration.  It  is  the  harmonious  whole, 
blending  majesty  with  color,  form  and  action,  that 
woos  all  our  senses  with  siren  touch.  It  is  not  a 
matter  of  height  or  breadth  or  mere  bigness.  The 
Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  outclasses  Yosemite  a 
hundred  times  over  in  greatness  and  other-world- 
ness.  But  here  Nature  is  truly  feminine ;  she  is 
tender,  gracious  and  becomingly  gowned  ;  she  puts 
on  little  airs ;  she  is  in  the  mood  for  comradeship. 
For  here  are  found  song  birds,  gorgeous 
wild  flowers,  rippling  streams,  grassy  parks 
and  bowers  of  shrubbery  and  ferns.  These, 
quite  as  much  as  the  beetling  crag  or 
stupendous  waterfall,  are  the  secret  of 
Yosemite's  hold  on  the  imagination.  It 
is  this  sense  of  the  supremely 
beautiful  incarnated  which 
makes  Yosemite  the  desire  of 
all  travelers.  201 


El  Capitan. 


SPANISH  NAMES,  THEIR  MEANING  AND 
PRONUNCIATION. 

Name.  Meaning.  Pronunciation. 

Adobe,  sun-dried  brick Ah-do'-bay. 

Alameda,   shady   walk    (from 

dlamos,  poplars) Ah-lah-may/-dah. 

AJamitos,  small  cottonwoods.  Ah-lah-mee'-tos. 

Alcatraz,  pelican AI-cah-trahs/.     (In  Mexico  z 

is  pronounced  like  double  /, 
in  Spain  like  th  in  think}. 

Albuquerque Ahl-boo-ker'-kay. 

Alejandro,  Alexander Ah-lay-hahn/-dr6. 

Almaden,  mine Al-mah-den/. 

Alvarado,  Spanish  explorer  . .  Ahl-vah-rah'-do. 

Amador,  lover Ah-mah-dor/. 

Anita,  Anna   Ah-nee'-rah. 

Antonio,  Anthony An-to'-nee-o. 

Arroyo  Seco,  dry  ravine Ar-row'yo  Say/-co  (with  the  r 

strongly  trilled). 

Bernalillo,  little  Bernal Behr-nal-eel'-yo. 

Bernardino,  little  Bernard  . .  .Behr-nahr-dee'-no.. 

Boca,  mouth Bo'-cah. 

Bonita,  pretty Bo-nee'tah. 

Buena  Vista,  good  view Bway'-nah  VeesMah. 

Cajon,  large  chest  or  box Cah-hon'. 

Calaveras,  skulls Cah-lah-vay'-rahs. 

Caliente,  hot Cah-lee-en/-tay. 

Campo,  country  or  field   Cahm/-po. 

Canyon  Diablo,  Devil  Canyon. Cahn-yon/  Dee-ah'-blo. 
Capistrano,    named    from    an 

Indian  saint Cah-pees-trah'-no. 

Carlos,  Charles Car'-I6s. 


Name.  Meaning.  Pronunciation. 

Carmencita,  little  Carmen  . .  .  Car-men-see'-tah. 

Casa  Blanca,  white  house Cah/-sah  Blahn'-ca. 

Centinela,  sentinel Sen-tee-nay-/lah. 

Cerrillos,  little  hills Ser-reel'-yos. 

Chico,  small Chee'-ko. 

Ci£naga,  marsh See-en'ah-gah. 

Colorado,  red Ko-Io-rah'-do. 

Conejo,  rabbit Ko-nay'-ho. 

Contra  Costa,  opposite  coast  .KonMrah  Kos'-tah. 

Coronado,  crowned  (named  for 
explorer)  K6-ro-nah'  -do. 

Corral,  enclosure Kor-rahF. 

Corralitos,  small  enclosures  .  .Kor-rahl-ee'-tos. 

Covina,  small  cane K6-vee/-nah. 

Coyote,  prairie  wolf Ko-yo'-tay. 

Del  Norte,  of  the  north Del  Nor'-tay. 

Del  Sur,  of  the  south Del  SOOT'. 

Dos  Palmas,  two  palms Dos  PahK-mahs. 

El  Cajon,  the  large  box El  Kah-hon'. 

El  Capitan,  the  captain El  Kah-pee-tahn'. 

El  Dorado,  the  gilded El  Do-rah'-do. 

El  Monte,  the  hill El  Mon'-tay. 

El  Morro,  the  castle El  Mor'-ro. 

El  Paso,  the  pass El  Pah'-so. 

El  Torro,  the  bull El  To'-ro. 

Encinitas,  evergreen  oaks En-see-nee'-tas. 

Escondido,  hidden Es-con-di'-do. 

Estrella,  star Es-treK-ya. 

Farallones,  small  islands,  high, 
rough  and  difficult  of  ac- 
cess   Fah'-rahl-yon'-es. 

Fresno,  ash  tree Fres'-no. 

Galisteo,  a  name. Gah-lis-tay'-o. 

Garbanza,  wild  pea Gar-ban'-thah. 

Graciosa,  graceful Grah-see-o'-sah. 

Guadalupe,  a  name Gwah-dah-loo'-pay, 

203 


Name.  Meaning.  Pronunciation. 

Hermosillo,  little  beauty Er-mo-seel'-yo. 

Isleta,  little  island ees-lay'-ta. 

La  Canada,  the  valley,  glen.. Lah  Cah-nah'-dah. 

Laguna,  lagoon,  pond Lah-goo'-nah. 

La  Joya,  the  jewel Lah  Ho'-yah. 

La  Junta,  the  junction Lah  Hun'-tah. 

La  Mesa,  the  table-land Lah  May'-sah. 

La  Punta,  the  point Lah  Pun'-tah. 

Las  Animas,  souls  in  purga- 
tory   Las  Ah'-nee-mahs. 

Las  Cruces,  the  crosses Las  Crew'-ses. 

Las  Flores,  the  flowers Las  Flo'-res. 

Las  Vegas,  fertile  fields Las  Vay'-gahs. 

Lerdo,  slow Ler'-do. 

Linda  Vista,  beautiful  view  .  .Leen'-dah  Vis'-tah. 

Loma  Alta,  high  hill Lo'-mah  Ahl'-tah. 

Loma  Prieta,  black  hill Lo'-mah  Pree-a'-tah. 

Los    Alamitos,    little    cotton- 
woods  Los  Ah-lah-mee'-tos. 

Los  Alamos,    cottonwood 

trees Los  Ah'-lah-mos. 

Los  Gatos,  the  cats Los  Gah'-tos. 

Los  Nietos,  the  grandchildren.  Los  Nee-a'-tos. 

Los  Olivos,  the  olive  trees Los  o-lee'-vos. 

Madera,  timber  wood Mah-day'-rah. 

Manzana,  apple Mahn-thah'-nah. 

Merced,  mercy Mer-sed'. 

Mesa,  table,  table-land May'-sah. 

Mesa    Encantada,    enchanted 

land May'-sah  En-kan-tah'-dah. 

Mesquite,  tree  of  that  name  . .  Mes-quee'-tay. 

Montecito,  little  hill .Mon-tay-see'-to. 

Morro,  tower  or  fortification.  .Mor'-ro  (r  strongly  trilled). 

Nacion,  nation Nah-see-on'. 

Nuevo,  new Nway'-vo. 

Pajaro,  bird Pah'-hah'-ro. 

204 


Name.  Meaning.  Pronunciation 

Pampa,  plain Pahnv'-pah. 

Paso  de  Robles,   pass  of   the 
oaks Pah'-so  day  Roubles. 

Picacho,  peak Pee-kah'-cho. 

Pinde,  sweetened  corn  water.  .Peen'-day. 

Plumas,  feathers Ploo'-mahs. 

Presidio,  garrison Pray-see'-dee-o. 

Pueblo,  village Pway'-blo. 

Puente,  bridge Pwen'-tay. 

Puerco,  a  hog,  hence  unclean. Pwer'-co. 

Punta  Gorda,  thick  point Poon'-tah  Gor'-dah 

Purgatoire,    Purgatorio,    pur- 
gatory   Poor-gah-tox-rio. 

Ranchito,  small  ranch Rahn-chee'-to. 

Raton,  mouse Rah-ton'. 

Redondo,  round Ray-don'-do. 

Rincon,  corner Rin-kon'. 

Rio,  river Ree'-6. 

Rivera,  shore Ree-vay'-rah. 

Sacramento,  sacrament Sah-krah-men'-to. 

Salinas,  salt  pits Sah-lee'-nahs. 

San  Andres,  St.  Andrew Sahn  Ahn-dres'. 

San  Buena  Ventura,  St.  Bon- 

aventure  (good  fortune) Sahn  Bway'-nah  ven-too'-rah. 

San  Clemente,  St.  Clement  ..Sahn  Klay-men'-tay. 

San  Diego,  St.  James Sahn  Dee-ay/-g6. 

San  Francisco,  St.  Francis. .  .Sahn  Fran-sees'-ko. 

San  Jacinto,  St.  Hyacinth Sahn  Hah-seen'-to. 

San  Joaquin,  St.  Joachin Sahn  Hwah-keenx. 

San  Jose,  St.  Joseph Sahn  Ho-say'. 

San  Luis  Obispo,  St.  Louis  the 
bishop Sahn  Loo-ees/  O-bees'-po. 

San  Miguel,  St.  Michael Sahn  Mee-gelK  (hard  g.) 

San  Pablo,  St.  Paul Sahn  Pah'-blo. 

San  Pedro,  St.  Peter Sahn  Payx-dr6. 

San  Rafael,  St.  Raphael Sahn  Rah-fah-elK. 

205 


Name.  Meaning.  Pronunciation. 

Santa  Barbara,  St.  Barbara.  .Sahn'-tah  Bar'-bah-rah. 
Santa  Catalina,  St.  Catherine. Sahn'-tah  Cah-tah-Iee'-nah. 

Santa  Cruz,  holy  cross Sahn'-tah  Krooss'. 

Santa  Fe,  holy  faith Sahn'-tah  Fay7. 

Santa  Rosa,  St.  Rose Sahn'-tah  Ro'-sah. 

Santa  Ynez,  St.  Inez Sahn'-tah  E-ne'ss. 

Santa  Isabel,  St.  Isabel Sahn'-tah  E-sah-bell'. 

Saucilito,  little  willow Sau-see-lee/-t6. 

Savana,  vast  plain  (Sdbana)  .Sah'-bah-nah. 

Sierra,  mountain  chain See-er'-rah. 

Sierra  Madre,  mountain  range 

literally  mother  range See-er'-rah  mah'-dre. 

Sierra    Nevada,  snowy    range 

(saw-tooth) See-er'-rah  Nay-vah'dah. 

Soledad,  solitude So-lay-dad7  (d  in  Spanish  has 

a  peculiarly  soft  sound  like 

th  in  the.) 
Tamalpais,  Tamal  Indians  .  .Tah-mahl-pais. 

Temecula,  Indian  name Tay-may-cooMah. 

Tia  Juana,  Aunt  Jane Tee'-ah  Hwah'-na. 

Valle,  valley VahF-yay. 

Vallecito,  little  valley Vahl-yay-seeMo. 

Vallejo,  small  valley VahKyay'-ho. 

Ventura,  luck Ven-too'-rah. 

Verde,  green Verr-day. 

Viejo,  old Vee-ay'-ho. 

Vista,  view Vees'-tah. 


206 


